#deciphering meaning in chaos | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

scarletmika · 1 month ago

Text

Kiss Me Again : ̗̀➛ Robert "Bob" Reynolds x Reader

Pairing: Robert "Bob" Reynolds/Sentry x Goddess!Reader

Summary: A crush isn't a problem, and when that crush becomes love, it's usually a good thing. For Bob, it terrifies him, because he'd managed to fall in love with a literal Goddess. Why would a Goddess choose a broken man like him?

Warnings: SO much fluff, shy Bob (I would be too), pining, age gap (inevitable when one of them is a literal Goddess), probably some very incorrect Norse Mythology but it's fanfiction people, SPOILERS kinda for Thunderbolts*, female reader description

Word Count: 4,727 words

Requests are open! : ̗̀➛ Find my masterlist here A/N: this was an anon request and the second I read it I said "I must write this right now" and then I ran with it

PART TWO Kiss Me Forever : ̗̀➛ Robert "Bob" Reynolds x Reader

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧

“So, Winter Soldier…when you say ‘otherworldly visitor’ do you actually mean ‘otherworldly’ or is she just very…you know…beautiful in that entrancing sort of-”

“Oh my god, Alexei, when he says ‘otherworldly,’ he does mean ‘otherworldly,’ why is that so hard to understand?”

Bob was nothing short of confused throughout the entire conversation playing out before them. Bucky had called a meeting of the entire group, stating an ‘emergency,’ and gathered them all in the meeting room that Valentina had designed for staging before missions. It wasn’t a room that Bob was in often, still yet to have gone on a mission with the team as he worked to find a way to use his powers without losing control of himself, but even being in there for less than 5 minutes, he could tell why his friends hated it so much.

The A/C in the conference room was terrible, and as someone who ran hot naturally because of the ‘medical trial,’ it wasn’t doing Bob any favors in the summer heat of New York City. The table was entirely too large for the small team, judging by the way that Bucky had to practically shout down the table to where Alexei sat at the head of it, claiming it was the best seat and the most important. All in all, Bob hated it, though there was a lot about the newly renovated tower that everyone hated, given it had all been Valentina’s design work.

“Look, can we forget about the ‘otherwordly’ comment for two seconds? If either of you says it again, I may just carve out my own eardrums,” Yelena made a show of holding her freshly sharpened knife to her ear, giving Ava and her father a blank look, before turning her attention back to Bucky. “Wherever she may or may not be from…why exactly have you invited some woman to the tower?”

“To train him,”

Bob’s head shot up when it got quiet in the room, realizing that Bucky’s finger was jabbed in his direction, and all eyes were on him. His own eyes went wide, and he himself thought they might fall out of his head, as he pointed at himself.

“T-train…me?”

“You said you were ready to begin learning to fight, that you had a pretty good grasp on the…other sides of you,” Bucky explained as Bob shifted uncomfortably at even the mention of the other parts of him he wished to keep locked away. “There are three super soldiers in this room, and we all got our asses handed to us by you months ago in this very tower. Trust me, if anyone can train you and keep up, it’s her.”

The team gave one another skeptical glances, turning to Bob who looked just as confused. Yelena hung her head, rubbing at the sockets of her eyes with the palms of her hands as she turned back to Bucky.

“And who in the hell could possibly be strong enough for that?”

“...the Goddess of Strategy-”

“EXCUSE ME?”

The room erupted into absolute chaos as Bucky uttered those three simple words, hanging his head with a groan that resounded through the room as the team yelled over one another, their words impossible to decipher.

Bob, on the other hand, was frozen. He’d kept himself entertained in the attic of his childhood home with many, many books on Norse Mythology stolen from the local library. He’d grown up reading the myths of Thor, Loki, and the likes, only to learn years later that those gods were, in fact, real.

Yeah, Bob knew exactly who you were. He couldn’t decide if the flush quickly crawling across his skin was due to the yelling in the room or because he’d harbored a crush on you, his favorite Avenger, since he was a literal child.

“If you think Valentina will allow this-”

“When have I ever cared what Val thinks-”

“Are we glossing over the Goddess aspect of this-?”

“Please, she could probably break little Bobby in half with a look-”

“FRIENDS, MY WONDERFUL TEAM, LOWER YOUR VOICES!” it was a very contradictory statement for Alexei to be shouting, standing on top of the rolling chair at the conference table, which the entire team was shocked wasn’t buckling under the pressure. It did the trick, though, the ceaseless arguing and shouting coming to an end as everyone looked to the older man expectantly. “I trust the Winter Soldier’s judgement, but this old Russian only has one question…who is this Goddess?”

These days, Yelena seemed to always be groaning around her father and anything he said, and this was no different. She muttered something in Russian under her breath, which most of the team by now had come to learn meant something along the lines of “shut him up before I do.” Bucky attempted to do just that.

“She’s-”

“Thor and Loki’s sister, daughter of Frigga and Odin. Goddess of Strategy, has a sword formed at Nidavellir that she’s- she’s kind of deadly with, but it’s really cool because it can summon the Bifrost. She was uh, trained in sorcery by Frigga, was an Avenger…” Bob hadn’t even realized that he’d gone on a tangent, interrupting Bucky and info-dumping everything he could about the myth that was you before his brain could stop him. He could see Yelena’s smile quirk up into a smirk as that red flush he’d already had deepened as he realized what he’d just done. “I just uh, I-I think I must’ve- I read that somewhere…once…a long time ago. A really-really long time ago.”

There was quiet in the room for a moment before Walker laughed, slamming his hand down on the table as he gestured between Bucky and Bob.

“Nice one, Barnes! Seems the student has a big ‘ole crush on the teacher you found for him!”

If the blush on his cheeks could get worse, it did. Bob avoided making eye contact with anyone at the table, gaze entirely focused on his hands as he wrung them together in his lap.

“Alright, lay off. Fact of the matter is, Bob needs a teacher that’s not easily breakable, and she’s the best of the best,” Bucky side-eyed Bob for a second, catching his eyes for just a brief moment. “I sent a message to New Asgard, they got it to her, and she said she’d do it. So bury your crushes, get your teasing out now, because she’s arriving tomorrow and I’d like if we could act like the Avengers and not the Avengerz for once. This woman did save the world…multiple times.”

Bob tried to do just that, he really did. There was endless teasing from John the rest of the day, and while Ava and Yelena didn’t directly contribute, they didn’t try to stop John’s comments either. Bob did his best to ignore them and brush them off, too busy giving himself a pep talk all day that he could do this. It was a harmless crush on a literal Goddess he’d had for years; it was nothing. He was an Avenger now, he could do this.

His pep talk had been great the night before. But it couldn’t prepare him for the moment you actually arrived at the tower in a stream of color.

The Bifrost was a sight in itself, but seeing it before your own eyes, as Ava muttered under her breath, was like its own separate wonder of the world.

The stream of colors dissipated before their eyes, leaving that same etched pattern it always did into the helicopter landing pad of the Tower they now called home. A conversation that it was decided Bucky would get to have with Valentina. When the colors were gone, you were left standing in the Bifrost’s place.

Bob hadn’t prepared himself for what it would be like to see you in person. Somehow, you were prettier than he even thought was possible.

The Asgardian armor you’d donned for years was still shiny, the light of the sun reflecting off of it. It was almost an exact copy of Thor’s own armor, though entirely blue and gold, billowing blue cape hanging from your shoulders, flowing in the wind of the city. Bob could see Styrkr, your sword, sheathed across your back, glinting in the sun as you stalked toward the group, a smirk that Bob thought could rival the sun itself on your lips.

You were beautiful. Gorgeous. Ethereal. There was no shortage of words that Bob could use to describe you in that moment as you stopped in front of Bucky.

“Well, Barnes…you look better than you did years ago, that’s for sure,”

Even your voice had the flutter in Bob’s stomach threatening to eat him alive from the inside out.

Bucky laughed, quickly pulling you into a hug that you eagerly reciprocated.

“I’d make a comment about how you haven’t aged a day, but I don’t think I need to point out the obvious,”

“Isn’t the longevity of Asgardians so fun?” you both shared another laugh, Bucky’s arm thrown over your shoulders as he seemed to give you an affectionate squeeze, a history of fighting and the semblance of a friendship clear between the pair of you. Your gaze drifted over the team beside him. “So…this is the New Avengers, huh? Still weird that you’re living in the tower I once called home.”

Bucky was quick to introduce the team to you. Yelena and Ava were nothing but respectful, while John still seemed to carry that ‘entitled arrogance’ as Ava typically called it in his greeting to you. Alexei had the entire team wishing that he just…knew how to be normal, for once. Loud, boisterous, but it brought a smile to your face nonetheless.

“I’ve got to say, you remind me a bit of Volstagg and Fandral if we mixed them into one person. I think you would’ve gotten along well with them,” the comment seemed to make Alexei surge with pride, even as he leaned over to his daughter and asked loudly ‘who the hell were those people.’ It was when your gaze finally made it to Bob that he felt his heart was going to stop. “So…that means you must be my indestructible, ‘power of a thousand exploding suns’ student.”

All eyes were on Bob in that moment, and he was struggling…hard. He tried to speak, to remind himself of his pep talk from last night and to portray confidence, but he was a stumbling mess of words.

“I uh, I’m-I’m Bob. That’s uh, that’s me…exploding suns and s-stuff. I’m the n-new student…yay. And I-I know who you are…b-big Norse Mythology fan…”

Bob could hear the snickers of his teammates, not entirely subtle about them, and could see the grimace on Bucky’s face. But not you.

Your smirk had softened into the sweetest smile. Your head had cocked to the side, eyes almost the tiniest bit brighter as they trailed his form up and down, and Bob could feel the sweat forming as he tugged at the collar of his sweatshirt, knowing you seemed to be assessing him.

“Bucky…you failed to warn me how cute my student was,” Bob’s breath had caught in his throat as you sent him a wink. “You know what they say…it’s always the quiet ones.”

You were going to be the death of him, Bob had decided in that moment.

You requested to spend that first day alone with Bob in the training room of the tower, gauging his comfort level in any form of fighting in the slightest. The team respected that, but that didn’t mean they hadn’t all found reasons to take turns walking past the training facilities in hopes of eavesdropping on conversations and catching glimpses of this training that they all thought was going to end terribly.

Bob’s eyes were locked on you as you removed the heavy armor plating you wore, laying it out on one of the benches until you were left in the form-fitting undershirt and pants that sat below your armor. Yeah, this was going to be absolute torture for him.

“Do you want to see it?”

Shaking himself out of the stupor that Bob seemed to put himself in, his eyes went wide as they focused back on your face. He was confused until he glanced at your hands, seeing that you were holding your sword, Strykr, out toward him.

“O-Oh! Oh uh, I don’t know-”

“She doesn’t bite,” you joked with a slight laugh, taking a step toward him and holding it out. “You said you liked Norse Mythology, so I figured you’d want to take a look at it before we get started.”

You were right, but Bob didn’t need to say that. With a shaky hand, he reached out and took the sword in his own hands, and he could almost feel the power flow through him just from holding it.

It was heavy, but not too heavy, a strange lightweightedness to it while still feeling like it took godly strength to swing. He realized, holding it up close, that the sun glinting off of it wasn’t what he’d seen earlier on the helicopter pad. The sword itself had a faint glow to it, almost pulsing, a power he could only assume came from the fact that it was forged in the heart of a dying star.

“It’s beautiful…” Bob managed to say without stuttering through it, probably because he hadn’t taken his eyes off the sword as he adjusted his grip on the hilt. “It ’s-it’s almost like-”

He hadn’t realized how fast he’d swung it, unused to the lightweight feel of the sword that was, most definitely, heavier than it looked. Your hand caught the blade easily, not even flinching, as it swung toward you, simply eyeing him with a curious look and a genuine smile.

“Well…never seen that before,”

“I-I’m sorry!” Bob dropped the hilt immediately, sure his cheeks were going to be permanently flushed red after spending time with you. You’d only let out a light laugh, catching the hilt easily, swinging it quickly in your hand before placing it down next to your armor. “I didn’t mean to! It’s just so…it’s so l-light.”

“It’s actually not. For most normal people, even for super soldiers like Bucky, it’s quite heavy,” you replied with a smirk as you rose back up to your feet. “Guess that’s a better explanation for your strength level than the bullshit ‘power of a thousand exploding suns’ shit Valentina came up with.”

Bob laughed lightly, wringing his hands together as his eyes followed you. Taking your place across the sparring mat from him, ten feet between you both, you stood ready for a sparring session. Bob…he stood as if he was in fight or flight mode.

“So…uh, how d-do we do this?”

“Depends. Bucky says when it comes to training you…don’t have much,” Bob nodded at your comment, watching as you tilted your head curiously. “You want to take it slow, or you want me to throw you in the deep end?”

“Uh…w-what’s the deep end entail?”

Bob had barely finished his sentence when your hands flicked, tendrils of navy blue magic wrapping around his waist and tugging him across the mat in your direction. A gasp left Bob involuntarily at the motion as the magic dissipated, leaving him barely on his feet in front of you. A single swipe of your leg had him plummeting to the ground on his back, landing with an ‘oof’ as your foot came to rest on his chest, barely pressing him into the mat.

“Y-you…” Bob was speechless, staring wide-eyed up at you as you simply smirked down at him. “T-that’s cheating!”

“No, that’s called the deep end,” you laughed wholeheartedly, reaching down to take his hand and tug him back to his feet, and he knew you didn’t miss that now signature red flush on his cheeks. “And that is why we’re going to start slow.”

“...why’d y-you even offer the deep end, then?”

“Girl’s gotta have some fun from time to time. Come on, let’s start with basic stances,”

Those training sessions started as once a week, before quickly evolving into twice a week, and before the team knew it, you essentially lived in that tower once again, there all day, every day. None of them minded, loving the stories you’d tell them over dinners of your adventures with your brothers when you were young, of the pranks that Loki enjoyed playing on Thor but never played on you, and even stories of everything that had once happened in the very tower the team now called their home. The more you were around, though, the more the rest of the team managed to find a way to tease him relentlessly when you weren’t in the room over his ‘obvious’ little crush.

Those moments of domesticity around you were what Bob loved the most, especially when it somehow managed to just be the two of you.

For weeks, even when you began to visit more and more often, the pair of you sparred together for hours, and that was the end of it. Bob, though, remembered the day it changed like it was yesterday. He wasn’t sure he’d ever forget it. The rest of the team had been sent out on a mission by Valentina, but you’d still promised you’d have your usual training session that day, even without them lurking around.

You’d thrown a punch that Bob managed to quickly dodge, even if he stumbled slightly on his feet afterward. Thinking of everything you’d been teaching him, Bob managed to steady himself, lock his feet into position, and throw a punch back at your ribcage. It connected, even though you hadn’t even flinched. You’d spun away from him, circling him with a smile on your face.

“Good! Next time, though, actually hit me,” Bob’s eyes widened, realizing what you were saying. You’d been trying to get him comfortable with his own super strength for weeks now, and that was the one thing he was still struggling with. “You have it, so use it. Don’t let it use you. Focus on it, channel it, and use it. You can do this, Bob. Don’t think, just do.”

Bob closed his eyes for a moment, thinking back on everything you’d been teaching him. Being the Sentry meant potentially letting that dark side of him overtake him, so he’d blocked off the Sentry. He’d blocked out his own powers, but he couldn’t. He had to accept that the Sentry and the Void were parts of him, and he didn’t need to be them in order to channel their strengths. He just had to be Bob, and when you were the one teaching him that, he seemed to understand it.

You charged forward, and he could see the magic encasing your fist as you threw a punch. Bob managed to duck, switching places with you. Your smirk quirked up as your leg came flying up at super speed. With a deep breath, Bob’s hand managed to catch it, not missing the way your eyebrows shot up. He threw your leg back to the ground, taking in a sharp breath as he thought about everything you’d taught him, and threw a punch toward your ribs, this time channeling the power surging through his veins that he tried so hard to block out in fear of losing control.

A gasp left your lips the second his fist connected, your body dropping to the ground as you fell on your knees, hand immediately holding onto your side. Any confidence surging through Bob in that moment dissipated in a second, and panic overtook him.

“O-Oh my god! I’m s-so sorry. I shouldn’t have- I shouldn’t have done that, I-I didn’t mean to hurt you-”

You laughed, and that laugh was enough to stop Bob’s incessant rambling of apologies. His gaze met yours as you looked up at him, and there wasn’t a trace of malice in it. There was pride, and something else buried beneath it that had the constant fluttering of his heart beating erratically once again.

“That, Bob, was perfect. Now…you want to get dinner together?”

From that day on, many of those days in the tower didn’t even consist of training.

You’d introduced Bob to the shawarma restaurant in downtown Tony had dragged you all to all those years ago, watching as Bob fell in love with the food. That became a typical Thursday outing for you both for lunch. In that time, simple walks around Central Park became more common than not. Bob enjoyed the peacefulness of the park, the contrast it had to the bustling city around it, and he found tranquility in walking through it. He didn’t leave the tower much, terrified of losing control, but when you were with him, he felt like he could do anything.

Moments in the tower with you were still his favorite. He could listen to you for hours on end, and he had, as you walked with him through the tower and told him stories upon stories from your years spent here with the people you’d called family for so long. There was a story for almost every room. And eventually, when those days turned into you crashing in one of the spare bedrooms Valentina had set up in the tower for the night, you’d both found yourself watching movies in the common room until the early hours of the morning before Bob’s insomnia would let him sleep, even if the others weren’t joining you.

The team had noticed. It was hard not to. The Bob they’d known, the one who often shied away from long conversations with them but could still throw out a snarky remark, had grown more comfortable. He’d left his shell, but only around you.

“Did you anticipate this?” Yelena questioned Bucky one day, who was comfortably sitting at the island counter of the tower’s kitchen. He’d followed her gaze to the common room, seeing you laughing on the couch at something Bob had said while yet another movie droned on in the background.

“To this extent? No,” Bucky shook his head, before glancing back at Yelena with a smug smirk. “But I hoped it might go this route. I’m taking credit for it.”

Yelena found herself watching you both again, and Bucky followed her gaze.

“Do you think she likes him…like that?”

The super soldier pondered it for a moment, but there was no mistaking it. Not with the way you smiled at Bob, no matter what he was saying, that glint in your eyes. He knew you well enough to know it was written clearly across your face.

“Yeah…she’s not very subtle. Then again, if you’ve met her brother, neither is he. She looks at him like Steve looked at Peggy, and that’s all I have to know,”

Bob was in deep, and he knew it. That crush he’d harbored was long gone.

He was in love, and god was it terrifying. To fall in love in general was a scary thing. Bob had lost enough in life; falling in love just meant there was another thing in his life he could lose. It complicates everything more when he’d gone and managed to fall in love with a literal Goddess.

It had been months of training, but something in the air this time was different. Bob couldn’t focus, couldn’t pull his eyes from you, and you seemed to know it. Every time you turned away, his eyes locked on you, but you always managed to glance back and catch him with a small smile.

His head felt fuzzy, that flutter still in his heart when he looked at you, and paired with that weightless feeling in his stomach, he knew being around you would never be easy again from this day forth. He was so mesmerized by the simple idea and sight of you he almost didn’t see your smirk as you entered fighting position, ready to spar again.

You were on him in seconds, this time with a knife in your hands. Both of you knew it couldn’t hurt him, but he also knew even if it could, you never would hurt him with it.

Bob sidestepped, but his mind was blank, the simple scent of your perfume sending him over the edge as he lost his entire train of thought. You’d taken advantage of the opportunity, knocking him down to his back on the ground.

What he hadn’t expected was for you to staddle him, knife pointed directly at his neck as you smirked down at him and the wonder written across his face.

“I win…”

Bob’s breath was caught in his throat, he didn’t know what to do. But you seemed to have him exactly where you wanted him. Your smirk shifted, a soft smile replacing it, as your hand rested gently on his chest, over the undershirt he wore to these sparring sessions. He knew you could finally feel the erratic beating of his heart reserved just for you.

“I’ve been teaching you for months now to fight. To be confident,” your voice came out in a whisper, and there was nothing for adoration laced through it. “I’ve spent enough time with you, Bob, I know you. So be confident…and tell me the truth about your racing heart.”

Maybe it was the way you always had a way of calming him, or maybe it was the training you’d been giving him for months, but something clicked in Bob. He sat up, leaning back on his hands until he was completely sitting straight up on the sparring mat, you still perched in his lap. A tentative hand came up to your waist, lying on it, and squeezing it gently. Your hands followed suit, running up his arms until they rested around his neck.

“You…” Bob tried to find the words, but his nerves were clear in his voice. “Y-you make me nervous.”

You hummed, hands finding the hair that curled at the nape of his neck.

“In a good way, or a bad way?”

“G-Good way,” he’d managed to get out, leaning is head back into your touch. “Good but…but scary.”

“Why?”

“B-because loving you means…I c-could lose you,” once the words started flowing out of him, they couldn’t stop. He’d held it inside for weeks now, and the weight on his shoulders was finally lifting off him with everything he said. “And I’ve lost enough. I…I don’t want to think a-about losing you, about you…not feeling the same way.”

You cocked your head at that, one hand trailing to his jaw as you caressed it beneath your fingers.

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“B-because why would a Goddess…want a broken man like me?”

He could see it clearly, the sadness that seemed to flood your gaze at his words. You opened your mouth as if to speak again, before shutting it in a moment of contemplation.

Then, you’d surged forward and kissed him.

Bob’s heart could barely be contained in his ribcage the second your lips met his, and he pressed back with a surge of confidence that only you could give him. But it was a kiss that held so much more in it than what someone on the outside might see.

Your magic was woven into the kiss, into the feeling of your lips against his, and he could feel it. He could feel your emotions, your memories, flashing before him in every move of your lips against his. From the moment you’d stepped out of the Bifrost and looked at him, he could feel the twin flutter he’d had that had moved through you. The affection, the adoration, the love that poured off of you in every moment, from Central Park to movies on the common room couch.

Feelings that he believed could never be reciprocated, not for a man like him. Your magic-infused kiss told him the entire story of how you fell for him, just like he fell for you. There was no denying it.

Your lips parted from his, but they didn’t stray far. The space that hung between them was non-existent, and your lips brushed over his faintly with every word you spoke to him in a hush.

“Do you believe me now?”

“I…I don’t know. Y-you…you might need to kiss me again.”

3K notes · View notes

deathofacupid · 4 months ago

Text

opposites attract, they say. they attract, but they don't last. at least, not satoru and you.

"'toru," you tug on his sleeve, the silk cool against your clammy skin. he glances away from the gaggle of people surrounding him, a practiced smile flashing across his face. it doesn't reach his eyes.

"yeah, baby?"

you inhale, the bass of the music vibrating through your chest, making it hard to breathe, let alone speak. "can we — could you…" the words catch in your throat. what were you asking for? sanity? a moment of quiet? "um," you stammer, "when's this going to be over?"

"over?" he echoes, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes, as if the very concept is absurd. "babe, the party just started."

your party. the party you hadn't asked for, the party you dreaded.

"i know," you say, treading carefully. you knew he'd put effort into this. it's just… the room felt like it was closing in. it wasn't his fault, not really. he thrived in this environment, the center of attention, radiating that effortless charisma. people were drawn to him like moths to a flame. and tonight, the flame was burning too bright.

"but… it's just really, um," suffocating is the word that claws at your throat, but it feels too dramatic, too needy. "it's just kind of a lot."

he laughs, a booming sound that seems to amplify the noise around you, and says something you can't hear over the music. "'toru," you sigh, the sound barely audible, "i can't hear you."

he clicks his tongue, a flash of annoyance crossing his features, before he leans in and excuses himself from the group. he takes your hand, his grip a little too tight, and pulls you out onto the balcony of the penthouse. the city lights sprawl beneath you, a dizzying panorama that mirrors the chaos in your head.

"okay," he says, his tone impatient, as if this whole conversation is an unwelcome interruption. "go ahead."

the resentment simmers. you swallow it down. "toru, this is… nice and all, but, uh — i'm just not sure… not sure this is my scene."

he squints at you, his brow furrowed. "what do you mean? it's your party."

"i didn't want one, though. don't get me wrong, this was… thoughtful, i guess. it's just too much for me."

satoru blinks, genuinely surprised, as if you've sprouted a second head. "but…i mean, i thought you'd like it. look at how many people showed up for you."

"'toru, those people aren't here for me. i don't even know most of them."

"it's a party! like, a party party. of course, you won't know all of them."

"i probably don't even know three of them!" you snap, the frustration finally breaking through. "you know i don't like these things," you add, the words softer now, pleading.

"yeah," he scoffs, the sound laced with something you can't quite decipher. "i do."

"well, what's that supposed to mean?"

"nothing. it's just," he groans, running a hand through his hair, "frustrating."

"frustrating? it's frustrating? me wanting to spend my birthday with you, that's frustrating?"

"you are with me!"

"and, like, one hundred other people! what's frustrating is that you're not listening! i told you i wanted to spend today, just the two of us!"

"but that's what we always do," he mutters, the words barely audible.

"what? oh, i'm sorry, is quality time annoying?"

he pinches the bridge of his nose, a muscle twitching in his jaw. "that's not what i meant."

"that's what it sounded like."

"look, it's just… boring doing the same thing all the time. we like different things."

"yeah," you whisper, the words heavy with a sudden, sinking realization. "we do, don't we?" you shake your head, the movement small and defeated, and turn to walk past him.

"wait, where are you going?"

you shrug, unable to meet his eyes, "to go to a different thing."

#satoru gojo x reader #gojo x reader #jjk x reader #satoru gojo #jjk #satoru x reader #gojo angst #satoru angst

2K notes · View notes

fudgeez · 4 months ago

Text

When the Nerd Takes Charge - Karina x Fem reader

Synopsis: Quiet bookworm Y/N, tired of being underestimated, clashes with queen bee Karina at a party. Karina's attempt to humiliate Y/N backfires when Y/N reveals a hidden seductive side, leaving Karina both shocked and captivated. The encounter sparks an unexpected obsession in Karina, dramatically shifting their dynamic.

Warnings: 18+ smut | men dni

(masterlist) next

The bass thrummed through Y/N's chest, a dull vibration against her ribs, but it did little to drown out the anxious buzz in her head. Winter's parties were always a sensory overload, a kaleidoscope of flashing lights and shouting voices, a world away from the quiet corners of the library she usually inhabited. She clutched her beer bottle, the condensation cold against her palm, and tried to blend into the shadows.

Winter had insisted she come, promising it would be "fun," introducing her to Liz, Rei, and Mina. They'd been chatting, a comfortable bubble of familiarity in the chaos, but then, one by one, they'd vanished, pulled into the swirling mass of bodies, leaving Y/N alone.

Then, she saw them. Karina, a vision in a sleek, black dress, her laughter sharp and bright, cutting through the noise like a shard of glass. Her entourage, a pack of equally polished girls, trailed behind her, their eyes glittering with amusement. Y/N shrank back, hoping to become invisible.

"Well, well, well," Karina's voice, laced with a playful malice, echoed through the small space.

"If it isn't Winter's little bookworm. What are you doing hiding over here? Trying to decipher the meaning of life in a beer bottle?"

"Just... enjoying the music," Y/N mumbled, taking a nervous sip of her drink, not because of Karina’s presence, but because of socializing.

"Enjoying the music?" one of Karina's friends, a girl with bright pink hair, chimed in. "Or just trying to figure out how to invite people to your book club org?"

Karina's eyes, dark and knowing, narrowed. She leaned closer, the scent of her expensive perfume filling Y/N's nostrils.

"You know, Y/N," she purred, her voice low and dangerous, "I've always wondered... what's it like to be so... innocent?" She emphasized the word, drawing it out, her eyes flicking to Y/N's outfit, a polo and a pair of pants, and then back to her flushed face.

"Still a virgin?" one of the friends asked, laughing.

Y/N opened her mouth to speak, but the words caught in her throat.

"Seriously," Karina continued, her voice dripping with mock sympathy. "You're always so quiet, so... reserved. It's almost cute." She paused, a cruel smile playing on her lips.

"Almost, but pity you know no one wants to make out with you."

"Leave her alone, Karina," a voice cut through the tension. Winter, her brow furrowed, pushed her way through the crowd. "Y/N's my friend."

"Oh, come on, Winter," Karina scoffed, waving a manicured hand dismissively.

"We're just having a little chat. Aren't we, Y/N?" She turned back to Y/N, her eyes glittering with a predatory amusement.

"Or are you too busy cataloging the literary symbolism of spilled beer to participate in a real conversation?"

Y/N's fingers tightened around the neck of her beer bottle. The urge to shrink away, to disappear, was almost overwhelming. But something in Karina's taunting gaze, the way she seemed to relish Y/N's discomfort, sparked a flicker of defiance.

"A real conversation?" Y/N echoed, her voice surprisingly steady. "Is that what you call it? Because it sounds more like a poorly written character assassination."

A ripple of surprised laughter went through Karina's entourage. Karina's eyes narrowed, the amusement replaced by a flash of something sharper.

"Oh, so the bookworm has claws," she purred, her voice laced with a dangerous undertone. "I'm impressed. Though I suspect they're more like paper cuts."

"Maybe," Y/N replied, meeting Karina's gaze directly, "but paper cuts can be surprisingly painful, especially when you least expect them."

"And what exactly are you implying, Y/N?" Karina challenged, her voice low.

Before Y/N could respond, Winter stepped between them, placing a hand on Y/N's arm. "Karina, just drop it. Y/N's not in the mood for your games."

"Games?" Karina raised an eyebrow, feigning innocence. "I'm simply trying to understand Y/N's... unique perspective. It's not every day you meet someone who prefers the company of fictional characters to real people." She gestured around the crowded room.

"Especially at a party like this."

"Maybe I prefer the company of characters who don't judge me for what I wear or who I choose to talk to," Y/N said, looking directly at Karina."Or who doesn't assume I'm a virgin just because I don't feel the need to broadcast my personal life."

A tense silence fell over the group. Karina's friends exchanged uneasy glances. Winter looked at Y/N with a mixture of surprise and admiration. Karina, however, simply smirked.

"Touché," she said, her voice dripping with a newfound respect. "But don't think this is over, bookworm. The night is still young." She turned to her friends, a mischievous glint in her eyes. "Come on, girls. Let's find some real entertainment."

"You didn't?" Winter stared at Y/N, her mouth slightly agape, a mixture of disbelief and awe in her eyes. Y/N simply shook her head, a small, almost sheepish smile playing on her lips. "It's because of the alcohol," Y/N explained, gesturing vaguely with her beer bottle. "It loosened my tongue, I guess."

Winter's eyes widened further. "Loosened your tongue? You practically turned into a verbal ninja! I've never seen you stand up to Karina like that."

She paused, then added, a hint of concern in her voice, "Are you okay? You seem…different."

Y/N shrugged, taking another sip of her beer. "I'm fine. Just…tired of being underestimated, I suppose." She glanced around the room, the swirling mass of bodies and flashing lights suddenly seeming less intimidating. "And maybe a little tired of being alone in corners."

"Well, you're definitely not alone now," Winter said, giving her a reassuring smile. "And if Karina tries anything else, I'll be right there."

"Thanks," Y/N said, a genuine warmth spreading through her. "But I think I can handle her now." She paused, a mischievous glint in her eyes. "Besides, I have some new material for my next book club meeting. 'How to verbally disarm a mean girl with the power of literary references.' "

Winter burst out laughing. "That's perfect! You should totally do that." She paused, then her eyes lit up. "Hey, you know what? Let's ditch this corner and actually enjoy the party. Liz, Rei, and Mina are probably still out there, somewhere…making out, as Karina so eloquently put it." She made a face, then grabbed Y/N's arm.

"Come on, let's find them. And maybe some better music."

As they navigated through the crowd, Y/N felt a sense of lightness she hadn't experienced in a long time. The alcohol, combined with the adrenaline of her confrontation with Karina, had given her a newfound confidence. She found herself actually enjoying the energy of the party, the laughter and music no longer feeling like a threat, but rather a vibrant backdrop to her own newfound boldness.

Meanwhile,

"Look who it is," said the pink-haired girl from Karina's group, her eyes fixed on Y/N. "The bookworm's trying to blend in with the cool kids."

Another girl from the group, with dark, heavily lined eyes, snickered. "Yeah, like she even knows how to dance. She probably thinks a 'club mix' is a literary analysis of a social gathering."

Karina, who had been lingering nearby, turned her attention to the scene. A slow, predatory smile spread across her face.

"Well, well, well," she drawled, her voice carrying over the music. "It seems our little bookworm is trying to break out of her shell. How…adorable."

"Karina," the pink-haired girl continued, her voice rising with a hint of urgency. "She totally dissed you back there. In front of everyone. We can’t let her get away with that. She’s a loser.”

The dark-eyed girl added, "Yeah, she thinks she's so clever. We have to teach her a lesson. Show her who's really in charge. We should test if she's really a virgin."

Karina's smile widened, a glint of something dangerous in her eyes. "You're right," she said, her voice low and smooth.

"We can't have our little bookworm thinking she can challenge the queen, can we?" She paused, her gaze locking onto Y/N, who was now laughing and dancing with Winter, a beer in her hand. "Let's give her a little…demonstration."

She turned to her friends. "I have an idea.”

Karina never expected her plan for Y/N to backfire like this. She couldn't tell if it was good karma or bad.

"You know, Karina, I've been dying to teach you a lesson. You're such a bitch, acting like some kind of angel," Y/N said in a raspy voice, kissing Karina's neck. Her hand slid beneath Karina's dress, sending shivers down her spine.

"Don't tease me," Karina said, but Y/N just laughed, slowly unzipping Karina's dress and effortlessly unclasping her bra strap. Karina gasped as Y/N cupped her breast.

Y/N's touch was both gentle and demanding, her fingers tracing the curve of Karina's breast, sending a jolt of electricity through her body. Karina's breath hitched, a soft moan escaping her lips. She had always been the one in control, the one who dictated the terms, but now, she found herself at the mercy of Y/N's touch, her carefully constructed facade crumbling. How? Karina thought, a flicker of confusion mixing with the rising desire. How does this…this bookworm know exactly what to do?

"You like that, Karina?" Y/N whispered, her voice a low growl against Karina's ear. "Do you like knowing someone else is in charge?"

Karina's eyes fluttered closed, a wave of heat washing over her. She couldn't deny the thrill, the forbidden pleasure of surrendering control. "Yes," she breathed, her voice barely audible.

It shouldn't feel this good, a voice in her head whispered, especially not from her.

Y/N's lips trailed down Karina's neck, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. Her hand moved lower, slipping beneath the waistband of Karina's skirt, her fingers tracing the delicate curve of her hip. Karina gasped, her body arching involuntarily. This isn't possible, Karina's mind raced, she’s too…experienced.

"You're so beautiful, Karina," Y/N murmured, her voice thick with desire. "So powerful. But even queens have their weaknesses, don't they?"

With a swift, practiced movement, Y/N unhooked Karina's skirt, letting it pool at her feet. Karina stood before her, clad only in her lingerie, her body trembling with a mixture of fear and anticipation.

Y/N's eyes raked over her, a predatory gleam in their depths. Where did she learn this? Karina wondered, her thoughts a whirlwind of confusion and arousal. This isn’t the awkward, innocent girl I thought she was.

"Now," Y/N whispered, her voice laced with a dangerous promise, "let's see how far you're willing to go." Karina's mind was a chaotic mess.

The girl she’d always dismissed as a quiet, unassuming nerd was now commanding her attention, her body, with a confidence that both terrified and thrilled her. The contrast was jarring, and it made the encounter even more intoxicating.

Karina's breath hitched as Y/N's gaze lingered on her exposed skin. How can she look at me like that? she thought, a strange mix of vulnerability and excitement coursing through her. Y/N's eyes, usually hidden behind a veil of quiet observation, now burned with an intensity that made Karina's knees weak.

"You're so tense," she murmured, her voice a low, soothing hum. "Relax, Karina. Let go."

Y/N leaned in, her lips brushing against Karina's ear. "Tell me, Karina," she whispered, her voice laced with a playful challenge. "Are you still so sure I'm a virgin?"

Karina's mind was a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. She wanted to deny it, to reclaim her power, but the words caught in her throat. The evidence was undeniable. Y/N's touch, her confidence, her knowledge of Karina's body – it all spoke of experience, of a hidden depth that Karina had never suspected.

"I…I don't understand," Karina stammered, her voice barely a whisper.

Y/N chuckled, a low, throaty sound that sent a shiver down Karina's spine. "Maybe," she whispered, her lips trailing down Karina's neck, "you're not supposed to."

She nipped gently at Karina's skin, eliciting a soft moan. "Just feel, Karina," she murmured. "Just let go."

Y/N's lips crashed down on hers, a hungry, demanding kiss that sent a wave of heat through Karina's body. The world outside the room faded away, leaving only the two of them, locked in a dance of desire and discovery. The kiss deepened, Y/N's tongue exploring the depths of Karina's mouth, eliciting a soft moan.

Karina's hands, initially hesitant, now gripped Y/N's shoulders, pulling her closer, desperate for more. The taste of Y/N, the feel of her skin against hers, the raw, undeniable power radiating from her – it was all so overwhelming, so intoxicating.

"You taste so good, Karina," she murmured, her voice thick with desire. She moved lower, her lips tracing the curve of Karina's breast, her tongue swirling around the sensitive peak. Karina's body trembled, her hands gripping the sheets, her nails digging into the soft fabric. A wave of pleasure washed over her, so intense it almost brought tears to her eyes.

"Please, Y/N," Karina pleaded, her voice trembling as Y/N teased her clit with her fingers. Y/N couldn't help but tease Karina, enjoying the sight of the notorious mean girl begging for her touch. "And what's the magic word, Karina?" Y/N whispered, her voice laced with amusement. Karina's cheeks flushed crimson, a mixture of shame and raw desire warring within her. She had never begged for anything in her life, let alone for pleasure.

But Y/N's touch, the way she expertly teased and tormented her, had stripped away her carefully constructed defenses, leaving her raw and exposed.

"Please," she whispered again, her voice thick with desperation. "Please, Y/N, I need this."

Y/N's lips curled into a playful smirk. "That's better," she murmured, her fingers continuing their tantalizing dance. "But you're still missing something."

Karina's breath hitched, her body trembling with anticipation. "What?" she breathed, her voice barely audible.

"Say my name," Y/N whispered, her voice a low, seductive growl.

"Beg for me, Karina."

A wave of heat washed over Karina, her pride battling with the overwhelming need for release. She had always been the one in control, the one who demanded obedience. But now, she found herself on her knees, begging for the very thing she had always denied herself.

"Y…Y/N," she stammered, her voice trembling. "Please, Y/N, please…I need you."

Y/N's eyes darkened, a predatory gleam in their depths. "Good girl," she murmured, her voice laced with a dark satisfaction. "Now, let's see how much you really want it."

With a sudden, decisive movement, Y/N increased the pressure, her fingers moving with a practiced rhythm that sent a wave of pleasure crashing over Karina.

Karina cried out, her body arching off the bed, her nails digging into the sheets. The world around her dissolved, leaving only the sensation of Y/N's touch, the raw, unadulterated pleasure that threatened to consume her.

Karina's body shuddered, a series of tremors wracking her frame as she reached the peak of her climax. A strangled cry escaped her lips, a mixture of pleasure and disbelief. She had never experienced anything so intense, so raw, so utterly consuming.

Y/N's fingers continued their rhythmic dance, milking every last drop of pleasure from Karina's trembling body. She watched, her eyes dark and knowing, as Karina's body convulsed, her breath coming in ragged gasps.

As the aftershocks subsided, Karina lay limp, her body still humming with the afterglow of her orgasm. Her mind was a blank slate, her thoughts a jumbled mess of sensation and surprise. She had never imagined that she, the untouchable Karina, could be reduced to such a state of blissful surrender.

Y/N leaned in, her lips brushing against Karina's ear. "Was that good, Karina?" she whispered, her voice a low, seductive murmur.

Karina could only nod, her voice lost somewhere in the haze of her pleasure. She turned her head, her eyes meeting Y/N's. A flicker of something akin to awe crossed her face.

"How…?" she breathed, her voice barely audible.

Y/N chuckled, a low, throaty sound that sent a shiver down Karina's spine. "Let's just say," she murmured, her eyes twinkling with amusement, "I have a few hidden talents."

She paused, her gaze lingering on Karina's flushed face. "And," she added, her voice laced with a playful challenge, "I'm just getting started."

A strange thought began to form in the back of Karina's mind. This wasn't just a one-time thing, a fleeting moment of weakness.

This…this was something else.

The way Y/N's touch had ignited her body, the way she had surrendered so completely, it was unlike anything she had ever experienced.

A dangerous, thrilling thought crept into her mind: This nerd…this is my new obsession.

1K notes · View notes

marvelstoriesepic · 2 months ago

Text

Somewhere Between Chapters

Pairing: Avenger!Bucky x Avenger!Reader

Summary: On a rare day off, you escape to the park with a book and no plans, followed and joined by Bucky.

Word Count: 1.1k

Warnings: fluff; mutual pining

Author’s Note: Ahh I loved some pure fluff for a change again. Thank you for sending me this lovely request!! I hope you enjoy ♡

2k Drabble Challenge Masterlist | Masterlist

You'd forgotten the way it felt to pause.

To inhale.

To just be.

And so when your mission schedule coughed up an unexpected day off - when the universe, in its infinite chaos, cracked open and let you go outside - you listened. You laced your boots, grabbed a book you'd been pretending to read for weeks, and walked until the city felt like a dream someone else was having.

The park smells like grass and laughter, and there is a soft breeze tracing letters across your skin like some sort of code you don’t need to decipher.

You find a bench under a flowering tree that doesn’t know how to stop blooming, and you sit, and you breathe.

The sky is soft today.

A blue that’s been washed too many times in the sink, but still looks beautiful. It hangs wide over the park, spills over the grass, and you feel it warming the top of your head.

You don’t want noise. Or missions. Or anyone asking you how you’re feeling because they already know the answer is complicated. You just want this. A park. A book. A sky.

And apparently, a Bucky Barnes.

You don’t notice him until he’s standing right in front of you and you turn a page that suddenly means nothing.

Bucky moves like guilt and history and poetry someone tried to erase. You didn’t see him coming. Didn’t see him watching. But there’s a silence following him. Something you always pick up - the subtle way the world makes space when he walks through it. You look up and your breath catches on his name.

His hair is slightly windswept. The clean-cut line of his jaw is staring right at you. He’s wearing that navy jacket you like, the one with the collar he keeps turning up when he’s pretending not to care what you think. He doesn’t say anything at first. Just stands there as if it’s normal.

You don’t know what to do with your hands.

“Hey,” he then says, voice low and slightly raspy.

You tilt your head. “Did you follow me?”

“Nah,” he lies. “I was just walking.”

You look at him. At his hands in the pockets of his jacket. The slight slope of his shoulders. The shadows under his eyes he wears like war medals.

“You were following me,” you say, slightly amused but soft, as though the words might bruise if you breathe on them too hard.

He looks away, mouth twitching as if chewing on a confession. He shrugs. “Didn’t have anything else going on.”

Which is a lie. You know it. He’s always got something going on. Missions. Meetings. Therapy. Hunched broodingly over the kitchen counter. Steve breathing down his neck.

He chose to come here. He followed you. And maybe that shouldn’t make your heart flutter the way it does, but it does. It flutters like a page caught in wind.

“Can I sit?” he asks, pointing at the place right beside you.

You nod before your heartbeat remembers how to say no.

Bucky sits beside you. You hear him let out a breath.

You open your book again, but the words are blurring slightly. He’s warm beside you. A slow, solid warmth. Like safety, if safety had stubble and blue eyes that refused to meet yours.

You glance at him, but he’s looking at the book in your lap as if it holds answers. As if it holds you. “What’re you reading?”

You show him the cover. He nods as though it means something to him, but it doesn’t. You know it doesn’t.

“Read to me?” he asks quietly.

Your gaze falls to him.

He doesn’t look at you when he asks. Just stares straight ahead, as though the request might have been an accident. As though allowing you to simply ignore it.

But you don’t.

You nod. It’s all you can do. You start reading aloud, the words trembling slightly at first, but then softening with the wind.

Bucky listens with the kind of attention you might think he’d use only on a battlefield. When it’s about life and death. But he listens to you as if your words are a map, and he’s trying to find his way home through the sound of your voice.

At some point, you forget what the story is about.

Because you can feel his gaze on you. Not constant - just glancing. As if trying not to be obvious. As if memorizing your profile in stolen pieces. The curve of your cheek. The way your lips move when you say words like hope and light and tethered.

You pause to turn the page, and his fingers brush yours.

An accident, probably.

You keep reading anyway.

He leans back, one arm stretching across the back of the bench. As if it belongs near you. And every now and then, his fingers touch the sleeve of your shirt and your skin forgets how to be still.

He closes his eyes. Maybe wanting to remember the sound of your voice. Trying to memorize it, tuck it away, in case he doesn’t get to hear it again soon.

You steal a glance at him when you think he won’t notice.

But he notices. Of course, he does.

He opens his eyes, catches you looking, and instead of looking away, you both just hold your gazes there. Caught in the space between chapters. Between breaths. Between all the things you’ve never said out loud.

You want to tell him he didn’t need to come. That he could have stayed back at the tower. You want to tell him that this is your favorite kind of day and now it’s somehow better.

But all you say is, “You like it?”

He doesn’t look away from you when he answers. “Yeah.”

“A specific part?”

He swallows. “All of it.”

And maybe he means the book. Or the breeze. Or the way you sit beside him and read to him as if he’s not someone dangerous.

Maybe he just means you.

You don’t answer. Not with words. Just a smile. A real one. The kind that starts in your chest and climbs all the way to your eyes.

He shifts, a little closer, until your knees brush. Until the warmth of him sinks into your side and you feel less like one person and more like a sentence that finally found its ending.

And you keep reading.

Because it’s the only way to keep breathing.

Because if you stop, you might say all the things you’ve been carrying, and he might say them back.

And the world might turn around.

#2k drabble challenge request #2k drabble challenge #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky x reader fluff #bucky barnes x reader #marvel bucky barnes #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes drabble #bucky x you #bucky x reader #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes #bucky x y/n #avengers bucky #james bucky barnes #buckybarnes #bucky x reader fanfiction

525 notes · View notes

girlrotterr · 9 months ago

Text

— "𝐿𝛦𝛢𝑉𝛦 𝑊𝐼𝑇𝛨𐒆𝑈𝑇 𝛢 𝑇𝑅𝛢𝐶𝛦."

𝑃𝛢𝐼𝑅𝐼𝛮𝐺: artist!ellie x fashion designer!reader

𝘚𝑌𝛮𐒆𝑃𝘚𝐼𝘚: You attend an art exhibition where you unexpectedly lock eyes with your ex-girlfriend, Ellie Williams, whom you haven't seen in years.

𝛢/𝛮: omg?! not me becoming consistent?! heavily inspired by "no one noticed" by the marias!!

The gallery is a cathedral of silence, punctuated only by the soft clicking of heels against the polished hardwood floor and the low murmur of voices echoing from every corner. The walls are a crisp, sterile white, meant to let the art breathe. But tonight, they seem oppressive, closing in on you as the weight of old memories seep through the cracks of time. You’re standing in the midst of it all, surrounded by strangers who admire Ellie’s work like they’re deciphering some abstract language.

But to you, it’s not abstract. It’s painfully familiar.

Your eyes drift over the crowd, catching fragments of conversation—chatter about technique, boldness, meaning—but they wash over you like background noise. Your mind is elsewhere, pinned in the past.

College felt like a lifetime ago.

It was chaotic, with you balancing late nights in the sewing lab, surrounded by mannequins and fabric swatches, while Ellie lived in the art studio, her hands constantly covered in charcoal, paint, or ink. There had been nights when you’d find her sprawled on the floor, sketching out her wildest ideas with frenzied energy, and you’d sit beside her, watching her create worlds you could only dream of.

Back then, you both were consumed by your passions and each other. She’d stay up late to help you finish a garment, sewing alongside you even though she hated it, just so she could be near. And you? You’d sit in on her critiques, quietly fuming when anyone dared to criticize her work, even though she could take it, even though she loved the fight. The memory of her smirk when she’d dismantle an argument from one of her professors—god, it still lingers.

But the fire that had burned so bright between you had also scorched everything in its path.

You remember the late-night arguments, when both of you were too stubborn to apologize, too young to realize that passion wasn’t enough to hold everything together. The breakup wasn’t dramatic—no shouting, no tears. Just a slow unraveling, a quiet drifting apart until one day, it was done. She moved on. You moved on. Or at least, that’s what you told yourself.

The years that followed had been a blur of fashion internships and city lights. You threw yourself into your work, traveling between studios, pouring every ounce of yourself into fabric, stitching your broken pieces into new designs. You hadn’t heard from her since. Not directly, anyway. You’d seen her name float around in the art world, her work gaining traction, and each time, you’d feel a pang of something you couldn’t quite name. Pride? Regret? A mixture of both.

And now, here you are, in her world once again.

Your gaze is drawn to the painting in front of you—a massive, turbulent landscape of violent brushstrokes and bold colors. The reds are fierce, like anger seething just beneath the surface, and the blues are deep, almost suffocating. It’s raw. Emotional. It feels like her. It feels like you. The two of you, tangled in something you couldn’t quite control. You step closer, your breath catching in your throat as you notice the delicate lines etched into the paint—small, subtle marks hidden beneath the chaos. You know those marks. She used to make them with the tip of her palette knife, carving out tiny details that most people wouldn’t notice unless they really looked.

You’re staring so intently at the painting that you almost miss the moment she walks into view.

Ellie.

The air shifts the second she enters your line of sight, like the whole room inhales in unison. Your heart stumbles over itself, beating out of rhythm, as if trying to catch up with the sudden rush of emotions flooding through you. You haven’t seen her in years, but it’s as though no time has passed at all.

She’s changed, but not in ways that feel unfamiliar. Her hair is still short, though it’s more trimed now, less uneven than you remember. She’s wearing that same damn brown jacket, the one she always wore like a second skin, only now it’s more worn, the creases deeper, the edges frayed. Her sleeves are rolled up to her elbows, revealing the tattoo that winds around her forearm— you remember tracing with your fingers in quiet moments. There’s a confidence to her now, a steadiness that wasn’t there before, like she’s found some kind of peace, even if it’s only partial.

But then there’s her eyes. Still that piercing green, sharp enough to cut through glass, or in this case, through the crowd. You watch as she shifts her weight, one foot tapping lightly on the floor, her posture betraying a flicker of unease as she nods absentmindedly to whoever she’s speaking to. Her hands are deep in her pockets, her thumb worrying the edge of the denim, a sign that she’s restless. She used to do that when she didn’t want to be somewhere—when she was lost in thought, in another world entirely.

You know her. You know her so well that it aches.

And then, as if drawn by some invisible string, her gaze lifts, scans the room, and lands on you.

It’s electric. The second your eyes meet, it’s like the ground shifts beneath you. Time folds in on itself, collapsing the years between you into this one fragile moment. You can see the shock in her expression, the way her brows twitch upward, just barely, before her features settle into something more controlled. But there’s no hiding the way her shoulders stiffen, or the slight parting of her lips like she’s forgotten how to breathe for just a second.

You’re both standing still, two statues carved in the midst of a gallery filled with movement, but you may as well be the only people in the room. Her green eyes are locked on yours, and for a moment, you swear you see a flicker of something there—something that mirrors the knot of emotions tightening in your chest.

Recognition. Pain. Something unfinished.

You can feel your pulse in your throat, in your wrists, in the way your fingers tremble as you drop your gaze for just a second. When you look back up, she’s still watching you, her expression unreadable, a mask of calm that you know too well. But underneath it—god, you know there’s so much more. Years of silence. Years of things unsaid.

She doesn't move. And neither do you.

You both just... stand there, holding onto the fragile tension between you like a thread waiting to snap. The air is heavy with what could be—what might’ve been—what still lingers between you like smoke from a fire that never quite burned out.

It’s your sophomore year, late spring. You remember because the air had that soft, electric warmth that made everything feel alive. You were both sitting on the edge of the campus fountain, surrounded by the sound of splashing water, the soft hum of people passing by, and the occasional flutter of birds overhead. Your fashion projects had been spread out between you—loose sketches and fabric samples fluttering in the light breeze—while Ellie’s hands were smeared with charcoal from a half-finished drawing she couldn’t quite get right.

“I don’t get how you do this,” she had muttered, frowning at one of your illustrations. She held it up to the light, squinting as if that would make the delicate lines make more sense. You had laughed, the sound coming out lighter than you’d intended, mostly because of how seriously she was studying your work. Like it was a puzzle she had to solve.

“It’s just fabric,” you’d teased, leaning closer to her to catch a glimpse of her concentrated expression. “You make art out of nothing but feelings—this should be easy for you.”

She rolled her eyes but didn’t hide the smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “Art out of feelings, huh? That’s one way to put it.”

You watched her for a second longer, your gaze tracing the familiar curve of her jawline, the sharpness of her cheekbones, the way her hair stuck up no matter how much she tried to tame it. There was a smudge of charcoal on her nose that she hadn’t noticed yet. You found yourself leaning in, almost without thinking, using your thumb to wipe it away. The moment your skin touched hers, her body went still—like you’d pressed pause on her every movement.

Her green eyes flicked to yours, and for the first time since you’d met, there was a shift. Something unspoken passed between you, heavy and undeniable, hanging in the air between your breaths. You were close—closer than you usually were. And you could feel the heat radiating off her skin, mixing with the spring warmth, making the space around you feel almost too small.

Ellie cleared her throat, her gaze dropping to your hand still lingering on her face. “You, uh… you didn’t have to do that.”

“I wanted to.”

The words came out before you could stop them. And then the silence stretched out, pulling taut as the world around you blurred and fell away. The distant laughter of students, the splashing water of the fountain—it all melted into the background until the only thing you could focus on was the way Ellie was looking at you.

It wasn’t a stare. It was deeper. Like she was seeing you for the first time, really seeing you.

You didn’t move. Neither of you did. Time slowed, and in that moment, every boundary you’d carefully drawn between friendship and something more started to dissolve. You could hear your heart beating in your ears, your chest tight with anticipation, with something you hadn’t let yourself name before now.

Ellie’s breath hitched, so soft you barely noticed. “You shouldn’t say stuff like that,” she murmured, her voice lower than usual.

“Why not?” Your voice trembled, betraying you.

Her eyes flicked back up to meet yours, and there it was—the thing you’d both been avoiding for months. The truth that had been simmering beneath every shared glance, every brush of hands, every late-night conversation when the rest of the world was asleep and it was just you and her, tangled up in each other’s lives without even realizing how deep it went.

“Because…” she hesitated, biting her lip as if searching for the right words. Her gaze softened, like she was caught in a struggle between fear and wanting. “Because I wouldn’t know how to stop.”

The air left your lungs in a rush, and before you could second-guess yourself, before the doubts and the what-ifs could pull you back, you leaned in.

The kiss was soft, tentative at first. Her lips brushed against yours, the faintest touch, as if she wasn’t sure you were real. But then—god—then she kissed you harder, her hand cupping the back of your neck, pulling you in as though you were the answer to every question she hadn’t known how to ask. Her mouth tasted like spearmint gum and the faintest hint of cigarettes, warm and familiar. You melted into her, your hands gripping the edge of the fountain to keep yourself steady as everything around you spun.

In that kiss, there was no hesitation, no distance. Just the two of you, colliding in a moment that felt like it had been building for a lifetime. Her hands slid up your back, anchoring you to her, and you could feel the slight tremble in her fingers. But it didn’t matter. None of it mattered. Because you were kissing Ellie, and the rest of the world could’ve disappeared, and you wouldn’t have cared.

When you finally pulled back, gasping for air, you kept your forehead pressed against hers. The world had snapped back into focus around you—the chatter of campus life, the rustle of the wind in the trees—but it felt distant, muted, like it wasn’t quite real. Not compared to this.

Ellie’s eyes fluttered open, and she looked at you like you were the only thing she could see. Her breath was still shaky, her lips swollen and flushed. She swallowed, hard, and whispered, “I… I didn’t mean to… I didn’t…”

But you silenced her with a gentle smile, brushing a thumb across her cheek.

“You don’t have to explain.”

Because you both knew what it meant. You both knew that nothing would be the same after this, and you were okay with it. Maybe you were scared. Maybe she was too. But in that moment, wrapped up in the heat of the afternoon sun and the lingering taste of her on your lips, none of that mattered.

All that mattered was her.

The sound of your name pulls you back to the present. It’s bright and full of life, cutting through the thick haze of tension like a ray of sunlight. You turn just in time to see Dina pushing her way through the crowd, a grin spreading across her face as she practically bounces in your direction.

She’s the same as ever—sharp, effortlessly cool, with a wild energy that always made you feel like you were part of something big just by being near her. Her dark hair, tied up in a messy bun, hasn’t changed a bit, though there’s a new edge to her style—bold patterns clashing in a way only she could pull off.

Before you can even get a word out, she’s enveloping you in a tight hug, squeezing you so hard that you let out a laugh, the tension in your chest easing a little. She smells like lavender and cedarwood, familiar and grounding, and for a brief moment, the knot of emotions tangled in your stomach loosens.

“Oh my god, it’s been forever!” Dina practically yells, pulling back just enough to look at you, her eyes sparkling with genuine excitement. “I didn’t even know you were coming tonight! How the hell are you? You look amazing!”

You’re caught off guard by her energy, her enthusiasm wrapping around you like a warm blanket. You smile, shaking your head as you try to gather your thoughts. “I—yeah, it’s been a while, hasn’t it? I wasn’t sure I’d even make it, but, you know”

Dina snorts, rolling her eyes playfully. “Yeah, tell me about it. But seriously, I’m so glad you’re here! You—” she gestures at you with both hands, eyes wide as if she’s sizing you up, “—still killing it with the whole fashion thing, right? I saw your last collection! so damn chic! The textures, the layering—ugh, I wanted to steal every piece.”

You laugh, feeling a flush of pride at her words. “Thanks, Dina. I’m still trying to figure out what’s next, but I’m glad you liked it.”

“Liked it? Girl, I loved it.” Dina leans in closer, lowering her voice conspiratorially. “I mean, between you and Ellie, the two of you were always the most talented people on campus. It’s wild seeing both of you making it big.”

The mention of Ellie’s name sends a ripple of tension down your spine, and suddenly, the room feels a little too warm again. You glance over Dina’s shoulder, and sure enough, Ellie is still standing there, watching the two of you.

Dina follows your gaze, and when she spots Ellie, her face lights up even more. “Oh, shit, you haven’t seen her yet, have you?” Dina’s voice drops to a mischievous whisper, her grin widening. “This is gonna be good.”

Before you can protest, before you can even think of what to say or how to brace yourself, Dina’s already calling out, “Ellie! Hey! Get over here!”

Your heart skips a beat, your pulse quickening as Ellie’s eyes flicker to Dina. For a second, she looks like she might hesitate, like the distance between the two of you is a bridge she’s not sure she wants to cross. But then, with a slow exhale, she starts moving, weaving through the crowd with that effortless stride of hers—confident, but never cocky.

And just like that, she’s standing in front of you.

Up close, the years between you seem even sharper. You can see the slight changes in her face— the way her lips quirk at one corner like she’s fighting a smile but doesn’t want to give in. Her green eyes, though, are as piercing as ever, and when they lock onto yours, you feel that same jolt of electricity you did back in college, the same spark that never really went out.

For a moment, no one says anything. The air is silent with unspoken words, with the history that hangs between you like a thread waiting to snap.

Ellie’s lips part, and she starts with something simple. “Hey.”

Dina, completely oblivious to the tension, claps her hands together with a grin. “Okay, this is weird for me. Two of my favorite people, standing here after all these years—this is like, full circle, right?”

You manage a small smile, though your throat feels tight. “Yeah. Full circle.”

Ellie shifts her weight, glancing at Dina with a wry smile before her gaze slides back to you. “Didn’t expect to see you here,” she says, her voice soft, like she’s trying to keep things light.

You shrug, trying to play it off. “Didn’t expect to be here either.”

But the words feel thin, hollow. Because standing this close to her, with the buzz of the gallery around you and the memories swirling like ghosts in the air, it’s impossible to ignore the truth.

This isn’t just a chance encounter. This is something you’ve both been avoiding for too long.

Dina shifts her weight, a perceptive glint in her eye as she surveys the two of you, the tension thick enough to slice through. She opens her mouth as if to say something—maybe to break the silence, to diffuse the moment—but then she pauses, that playful grin still dancing on her lips.

“Okay, you know what?” she says, clapping her hands together once more. “I just remembered I promised Jesse I’d check on him. He’s probably stuck at the snack table, drowning in mini quiches. So, I’ll be right back!”

Before you can even respond, she’s off, weaving through the crowd with that effortless grace of hers, leaving you and Ellie standing there, caught in a moment that feels suspended in time. The sounds of the gallery fade into the background—the murmur of conversations, the soft clinking of glasses—until it’s just the two of you.

The silence stretches.

Ellie shifts her weight again, her fingers fidgeting at her sides. You can see the thoughts racing behind her eyes, a whirlwind of emotions waiting to be unleashed, but the words seem to stick in her throat.

“So, how’s the show been for you?” you finally ask, trying to fill the space, to ease the tightness that’s creeping in. Your voice sounds a bit steadier than you feel.

Ellie’s gaze softens, and for a moment, the corners of her mouth twitch up into a small, genuine smile. “It’s… good. Better than I expected, honestly.” She glances around, taking in the vibrant colors of her artwork, the way the lights catch the brushstrokes, illuminating the stories behind each piece. “It’s kind of surreal to see it all up here.”

You nod, watching her as she talks. There’s a light in her eyes that flickers with passion.

“Your work is incredible, Ellie.”

She meets your gaze again, and there’s a flicker of something deeper in her expression—gratitude with a hint of vulnerability.

“Thanks,” she says, her voice quieter now, almost contemplative. “I’ve been trying to push myself more lately.”

Your heart swells with her words, and the warmth of the moment wraps around you like a comforting embrace. But then, as if sensing the shift in the air, the gallery begins to swell with new energy. The crowd thickens, laughter and chatter rising, and the once-intimate space starts to feel almost claustrophobic.

Ellie’s expression changes slightly, a flicker of uncertainty crossing her features. “I should probably go check in with some of the other guests,” she says, glancing over her shoulder. “Make sure everything’s okay.”

“Yeah, of course,” you reply, though a part of you aches at the thought of her leaving, of this moment slipping through your fingers like grains of sand.

But before you can say anything else, she steps back, creating a small distance between you. “It was really good to see you,” she says, the words almost swallowed by the hum of the gallery.

You nod, swallowing hard against the lump in your throat. “You too, Ellie..”

It was winter. Cold, biting, the kind of chill that seeped into your bones no matter how many layers you wore. You and Ellie were huddled in her tiny apartment just off campus, the one she’d insisted had “charm” but was really just a glorified box with bad heating. The windows fogged with condensation, and outside, snowflakes drifted lazily down onto the already blanketed streets. Inside, the space was warm and dim, lit by a single lamp in the corner and the flickering glow of a candle Ellie had lit for atmosphere.

But there was no warmth between you that night.

Ellie was pacing. Back and forth, back and forth, her hands running through her hair, tugging at it the way she always did when she was frustrated, on the verge of losing control. Her movements were restless, sharp, filled with an energy that seemed like it would combust if she didn’t do something, say something. She wasn’t looking at you—she hadn’t been able to for the past hour. And you, sitting on the edge of her bed, your hands clasped tightly in your lap, could feel the distance between you growing with every step she took.

“I just… I don’t know how to do this anymore,” she muttered, almost to herself, her voice strained, barely holding together. She stopped pacing for a second, pressing her palms to her forehead, her elbows resting on the back of a chair. “I feel like I’m drowning. Every day, it’s like… like I’m waiting for something to go wrong, and I don’t even know what it is, but I can’t breathe.”

Her words hit you like cold water, but you didn’t move. You couldn’t. You’d been feeling it too, the unraveling, the way everything between you had started to fray at the edges. It wasn’t sudden. It had been slow, creeping in like a shadow you couldn’t outrun. Long nights turned into silent mornings. Conversations that used to be easy, light, now felt like stepping through a minefield. Every fight, every misunderstanding, left scars you hadn’t been able to heal.

But hearing her say it out loud… that made it real.

“Ellie…” Your voice was soft, almost a whisper, like you were afraid of shattering the fragile air between you. “We can fix this. We just need to talk. We always work through things, right?”

She shook her head, her back still turned to you. You could see her shoulders rise and fall as she took a deep breath, as if she was trying to hold it all together. When she finally spoke, her voice was lower, more broken. “Maybe that’s the problem. Maybe we’ve been working through things too much, you know? Like, we keep trying to fix it, but it’s not working.”

You felt your chest tighten, your pulse quickening. The coldness of the room started to creep in, the warmth from the candle and the blankets no longer enough to fight it off. You stood up slowly, your legs shaky, and took a tentative step toward her. “Ellie, please—”

She spun around, and the look in her eyes stopped you in your tracks. They were red, bloodshot, like she hadn’t slept in days. And there was something else there—something raw, something you hadn’t seen before. Desperation, maybe. Or fear.

“I don’t want to keep hurting you,” she said, her voice breaking on the last word. “But that’s all I’ve been doing, isn’t it? Every time we fight, every time I say the wrong thing or don’t say enough… it’s like I’m breaking you apart, piece by piece, and I can’t stand it. I can’t stand being the one who keeps doing this to you.”

Your throat tightened, your eyes stinging with the threat of tears. “You’re not—” you started, but she cut you off, shaking her head again.

“Yes, I am!” Her voice cracked, and suddenly, she wasn’t pacing anymore. She was standing still, facing you, her fists clenched at her sides like she was trying to hold herself together through sheer force of will. “You deserve better than this. Better than… than me.”

The words hung in the air between you, heavy and final. For a moment, the only sound was the soft hiss of the candle flickering in the corner, the distant rumble of a car passing by outside. You could feel the weight of what she was saying sinking into your skin, settling deep in your bones. She was pulling away, tearing out a piece of herself, a piece of you, and you didn’t know how to stop it.

“Don’t do this,” you whispered, stepping closer, your voice trembling. You reached for her hand, desperate to hold onto something, anything, but she flinched, stepping back just out of reach. “Please, Ellie. We can fix this. We can figure it out, we always do.”

But she was already shaking her head again, her eyes glistening with tears she refused to let fall. “No. I can’t… I can’t keep dragging you down with me. You deserve to be happy, and I don’t think I can give that to you anymore.”

Your heart broke then. It shattered, piece by piece, with every word she spoke. You wanted to scream, to tell her she was wrong, that you could make it work, that love was enough. But deep down, you knew. You’d both been unraveling for months, slipping through each other’s fingers like sand. And no matter how tightly you tried to hold on, it wasn’t enough.

Ellie took a shaky breath, wiping at her eyes with the back of her hand. When she spoke again, her voice was quiet, barely audible. “I love you, but I don’t think I’m good for you anymore. And I can’t… I can’t keep pretending like I am.”

You stood there, frozen, as the words echoed in the small space between you. There was nothing left to say. Nothing that could change what was already happening. So, instead, you just nodded, your throat too tight to speak, your heart too heavy to protest.

She watched you for a moment longer, her eyes softening, filled with something that looked like regret, maybe even guilt. Then, without another word, she turned and walked toward the door, leaving you standing there, the candle flickering weakly in the corner.

The sound of the door closing behind her felt like the final nail in the coffin. The room was suddenly too quiet, too cold, too empty.

And you were alone.

The night air cools your skin, but the warmth of the gallery lingers, wrapping around you like a heavy cloak. You take a few steps down the street, trying to steady your breath, trying to shake off the flood of emotions Ellie’s presence stirred up. But as you reach the edge of the block, something pulls you back—an invisible tether, tightening around your heart. You stop, glancing back toward the gallery, the soft glow of the lights spilling out onto the sidewalk, the hum of conversations still echoing in the air.

You’re not ready to leave. Not yet.

With a deep breath, you turn and step back inside, the warmth of the space enveloping you once more. The crowd has shifted, people moving around the artwork like currents in a river, but you’re not drawn to any of them. Instead, you find yourself wandering, letting your feet carry you through the gallery without any clear direction.

The pieces on the walls are beautiful—Ellie’s unmistakable style shines through in every brushstroke, every burst of color. But there’s something else here, something you can’t quite put your finger on. You continue walking, the noise around you dulling to a low murmur as you lose yourself in the art.

And then, you see it.

Tucked away in a corner of the gallery, slightly off the main flow of the exhibition, is a painting that stops you in your tracks. Your breath catches in your throat, and for a moment, everything else falls away—the crowd, the noise, even the memory of Ellie standing just a few feet from you moments ago.

The painting is large, dominating the wall with its raw, unfiltered intimacy. The colors are rich, deep tones of reds and golds and shadows that dance across the canvas like firelight. And in the center, almost hidden in the interplay of light and dark, are two figures—tangled together, their bodies intertwined in a way that leaves no room for doubt. The lines are soft, delicate, but there’s a fierceness to the way the brushstrokes capture the curve of a back, the arch of a neck, the way two sets of hands grip each other as if holding on for dear life.

It’s you and Ellie.

Your heart pounds in your chest as you take a step closer, your pulse quickening with every detail that comes into focus. The figures are not exact replicas, not perfect portraits, but there’s no mistaking it—the shape of your body, the curve of Ellie’s form. The familiarity in the way your hands touch, the way your legs are tangled together, skin on skin, lost in the moment of sex.

Your fingers twitch at your sides, a rush of heat flooding your cheeks as the memories flood back. The night in question comes rushing to the surface—one of those endless nights in college, when the world outside had ceased to matter, and all that existed was the space between you and Ellie. The way her breath had felt against your skin, the soft murmur of her voice in your ear, the way she looked at you like you were the only thing that made sense in a world of chaos.

It’s all there, captured in the brushstrokes. The vulnerability, the connection, the way you’d both been completely unguarded with each other in a way that had felt terrifying and exhilarating all at once. The memory is so visceral, it’s like being pulled back in time, your body remembering the touch of her hands, the feel of her lips against yours.

You stand there, rooted to the spot, your eyes tracing every detail of the painting. It’s beautiful, in a way that makes your chest ache, but it’s also unmistakably private. This moment was yours—yours and Ellie’s—and seeing it laid bare here, for everyone to see, feels almost too intimate, like a secret exposed.

Your breath hitches as your mind races. Did Ellie mean for this to be here? Was it a message? Or just a piece of her past she needed to exorcise, to let out into the world in the only way she knew how?

You take another step closer, your eyes fixated on the way the light plays off the figures—your figure—highlighting the delicate curve of your waist, the way Ellie’s arm wraps around you, pulling you closer. It’s so raw, so unapologetic, and the emotions it stirs up are almost too much to bear.

You stand there, your heart hammering in your chest, you hear the soft creak of footsteps behind you. You know, without turning around, who it is. Ellie’s presence fills the space before she even speaks, the air between you charged with an intensity that has been building all night.

For a long moment, neither of you says anything. You can feel her eyes on the painting, then on you, her silence heavy with meaning. She’s watching your reaction, waiting—maybe even bracing—for what you’ll say, for how you’ll respond. You want to say something, anything, but the words seem lodged in your throat.

Finally, Ellie breaks the silence. Her voice is soft, almost hesitant, but there’s a vulnerability to it that makes your chest tighten. “It’s… from a long time ago,” she says, the words almost a whisper. “I didn’t think anyone would see it and know..”

You swallow hard, still unable to tear your eyes away from the painting. “It’s us,” you say, the words barely audible, but Ellie hears them. You can feel her nod behind you, even though she doesn’t say anything.

Another beat of silence stretches between you, the weight of the past pressing down on you both. And then Ellie speaks again, her voice lower now, more grounded. “I didn’t know how else to… capture it. It was the only way I could make sense of everything.”

You finally turn to look at her, and the sight of her standing there, just inches away, sends a fresh wave of emotions crashing over you. Her face is softer now, the hard edges you saw earlier had smoothed away. Just her, standing there, vulnerable and exposed in a way that mirrors the painting on the wall.

For the first time all night, the space between you feels real. Heavy with everything that’s gone unsaid for years.

You open your mouth to speak, but the words are still out of reach. Instead, all you can do is look at her, your chest tight with the weight of everything this painting has stirred up. There’s a part of you that wants to step closer, to reach out and touch her like you used to, to see if the connection that once burned so brightly between you still lingers in the spaces where your skin meets hers.

But for now, all you can do is stand there, your heart pounding in your chest, the memory of that night—of her —playing over and over in your mind like a song you thought you’d forgotten.

Somehow, you ended up here—Ellie’s apartment. You’re not sure how it happened. Maybe it was the tension in the gallery, the weight of the memories between you, or maybe it was Ellie’s quiet, almost tentative offer: “Do you want to come over for a bit?”

Now, the door closes softly behind you, and you find yourself standing in the small entryway of her apartment, the familiar scent of her space—wood, paint, and that faint earthy musk of hers—hitting you all at once. It’s like stepping back into a life you’d long since tried to leave behind, except everything feels slightly off now, like a song that’s being played just a little too slow.

The silence stretches between you, awkward and thick, as Ellie moves past you into the living room. Her apartment is small, but cozy. Messy in the way an artist’s space always is, with scattered paintbrushes, canvases propped up against the walls, and sketchbooks overflowing with half-finished ideas. It’s not much different from the space she had in college, except this time, the mess feels more intentional—like it’s been lived in, not just occupied.

You hover near the door, unsure of where to put your hands, unsure of where to put yourself. The air between you is charged, but not in the electric way it had been back in the gallery.

Ellie clears her throat, scratching the back of her neck as she moves around the space, avoiding your gaze.

“Uh, you can sit if you want,” she says, motioning vaguely toward the worn, comfortable-looking couch that’s pushed against the far wall. “I’ll grab some drinks.”

You nod, grateful for something to do, even if it’s just sitting down. The cushions sag beneath you, and you can’t help but remember the nights you’d spent like this before, curled up together on whatever hand-me-down couch she had at the time, talking for hours, or sometimes not talking at all. Just being.

But this isn’t like before.

Ellie disappears into the kitchen, and you take the opportunity to look around. There’s an easel in the corner with a half-finished painting—a cityscape this time, vibrant with color and movement. The table next to it is cluttered with tubes of paint, brushes, and crumpled pieces of paper with rough sketches. It’s Ellie’s world, laid out in front of you, and yet you feel like a stranger in it now.

The awkwardness creeps up your spine, settling in the pit of your stomach as you wait, the quiet stretching on and on. You can hear Ellie moving in the kitchen—bottles clinking, the soft sound of the fridge opening and closing. It should feel normal, familiar. But it doesn’t.

After what feels like too long, Ellie finally returns, two bottles of beer in hand. She hands you one without a word, her fingers brushing yours briefly in the exchange. The touch is electric, sending a jolt through you, but it’s gone as quickly as it came.

Ellie sits on the opposite end of the couch, as far from you as the small space allows. She takes a swig of her beer, her gaze flicking to the window instead of meeting yours, her posture stiff and uncertain. You take a drink, too, trying to focus on the bitter taste of the beer instead of the way the room feels too small, too quiet.

The silence stretches again, awkward and heavy, like neither of you knows how to bridge the gap. The weight of the past hangs between you—unspoken, but impossible to ignore. You’re both dancing around it, unwilling to dive in, yet neither of you knows how to avoid it.

“How long have you been working on the pieces for the show?” you ask, desperate to fill the silence with something, anything.

Ellie shrugs, taking another sip of her beer. “A while. A couple of years, I guess.”

You nod, not really sure what to say.

You can feel her eyes on you—intense and heavy.

“I don’t think I ever forgot how it felt.” she blurts out, her voice low and husky.

You swallow hard, your pulse quickening as the weight of her words hits you. You know exactly what she means. The memory of her hands on your body, the heat of her breath against your skin—it all comes rushing back, sharper now, more immediate.

Ellie leans back against the couch, her legs spreading just slightly as she sets her beer down on the floor with a soft thunk. She’s still watching you, the unspoken desire hanging thick in the air between you. It’s a look you recognize all too well—a look that used to drive you wild, that used to make you ache for her touch in a way that felt almost unbearable.

And now, sitting here in her apartment, that same ache is starting to stir inside you again.

“I know it’s been a long time,” she murmurs, her voice soft, “But I’ve been thinking about you. About us. ”

Her words send a shiver down your spine, and you feel your body reacting, your skin prickling with heat as the space between you seems to shrink. You can see the way her chest rises and falls with each slow breath, the tension in her body barely restrained. It’s like she’s holding herself back—just barely—but there’s no mistaking the hunger in her eyes, the way her gaze keeps flicking to your lips, your body, like she’s already imagining what it would feel like to close the distance.

You know you should say something, should acknowledge the fire that’s rapidly spreading between you, but you can’t find the words. All you can do is watch as Ellie shifts closer, her movements slow, her eyes never leaving yours.

“I’m not gonna pretend like I don’t want you,” she says, her voice dropping even lower, almost a growl. There’s no hesitation anymore, no awkwardness, just pure, unfiltered desire. “Because I do. I always have.”

The confession hangs in the air, bold and dangerous, and it takes everything in you not to close the gap between you and her right then and there. Your body is already reacting, your pulse racing, your breath coming faster as the tension between you reaches a fever pitch.

Ellie leans in slightly, her face inches from yours, her lips so close you can feel the heat of her breath against your skin. Her hand moves to your thigh, the touch light but deliberate, her fingers pressing against you in a way that sends a jolt of heat straight through your core. It’s a touch that’s both familiar and new, reigniting the fire that had once burned so brightly between you.

“You remember how good it was, don’t you?” she whispers, her lips brushing against your ear, her voice sending shivers down your spine. “I can see it in your eyes.”

Your breath hitches, and you feel your body responding, your skin buzzing with the memory of her touch, the way she used to know exactly how to drive you wild. The pull between you is too strong now, the desire too overwhelming to ignore. You want her—desperately—and you can see the same hunger reflected in her eyes, the way her hand tightens slightly on your thigh, her grip firm.

“Ellie…” you breathe, your voice a whisper, but she hears it. She always hears you.

She moves even closer, her lips brushing against your neck now, the warmth of her breath sending a rush of heat through your body. “Tell me you want this,” she murmurs, her voice rough with desire. “Tell me you want me.”

Your mind is spinning, your heart racing as you feel the full weight of her body leaning into you, her hand sliding further up your thigh, her touch firm. You can barely think straight, the heat between you unbearable now, every nerve in your body on fire as she presses her lips against your neck, soft but insistent.

“I want you..” you whisper, the words tumbling out before you can stop them. And as soon as they leave your lips, Ellie’s restraint shatters.

In an instant, her lips are on yours, the kiss rough and desperate, all the tension and desire that’s been building between you exploding in a surge of heat. Her hands are everywhere—gripping your hips, sliding up your sides, pulling you closer as if she can’t get enough of you. The kiss is hungry, wild, like she’s been starving for you for years, and now that she has you again, she’s not going to let go.

Your body reacts instinctively, your hands tangling in her hair, pulling her closer as you lose yourself. It’s overwhelming, intoxicating, the intensity of her touch, the way she knows exactly how to make you melt beneath her.

Ellie pulls you onto her lap, her hands gripping your hips, and you can feel the hardness of her body beneath you, the strength in her arms as she holds you close, her lips never leaving yours. It’s rough, raw, and so intensely familiar, like falling back into a rhythm you hadn’t realized you’d been missing.

Ellie pulls back just enough to catch her breath, her forehead resting against yours, her breathing ragged, her eyes dark and wild with need. “I need you,” she whimpers.

In a rush, your hands find the hem of ellie’s shirt, pulling it up and over her head. You toss it aside without a second thought, your eyes immediately drawn to her bare torso—her tattoo twisting along her arm, her skin flushed with heat. For a moment, you pause, breathless, as you take her in. She’s gorgeous. Strong and lean, every muscle under her skin defined, her freckles scattered across her chest like stars in the night.

Ellie’s breathing is ragged, her chest rising and falling heavily as she watches you, her lips slightly parted, her eyes burning with want. But she doesn’t say a word. Instead, her hands move to your shirt, tugging it up in one swift motion. You lift your arms, letting her pull it over your head before it, too, is discarded in the growing pile of clothes on the floor.

Her gaze drops immediately, her eyes sweeping over your body.

There’s something in the way she looks at you—something intense,that makes your skin burn under her. Ellie’s hands rest on your bare waist now, her fingers brushing over your skin as she takes you in.

“Ellie…” you breathe, the sound a mixture of a plea and a gasp, urging her to continue.

“Fuck…” she mutters, almost to herself as she leans back slightly to get a better view. Her hands slide up your sides, fingers trailing over the curve of your breasts, the sensation sending a shiver through your entire body. She looks at you like you’re something to be worshipped, her eyes dark with want, her touch slow, as if she’s savoring every second, every inch of you.

“God, you’re beautiful,” Ellie whispers, she’s taking her time now, her hands exploring every inch of your skin, her fingers brushing over your collarbone, tracing the line of your ribs, before they move back up, cupping your breasts with a gentleness that contrasts the raw hunger in her eyes.

You reach for her, your hands roaming over her body, feeling the strength of her shoulders, the hard lines of muscle beneath her skin. Your hands move lower, exploring the soft dip of her waist, the way her body feels beneath your touch—strong, every muscle tensing under your fingers as you stroke her skin. You let your fingers trace the outline of her abs, feeling the way her body responds to your touch, the way her breath hitches every time your hands move lower.

Ellie's hands grip your hips with an sudden urgency, your slick catches against her cunt, the soft, wet friction sending pulses along your clit. You feel her body respond—every muscle tightening, every breath hitching in anticipation.

Ellie's hands grip your hips with an urgency, your slick catches against her cunt, the soft, wet friction making you pulsate. You can feel her body respond—every muscle tightening, every breath hitching in anticipation.

“n-need to feel you,” she gasps, her voice wavering on the edge of breaking, raw and desperate. The intensity in her eyes makes your heart race, an unquenchable thirst that mirrors your own.

You begin to grind against her, your slick meeting her puffy clit, the sensation making you gasp as the friction builds.

“Oh god, please..” you whimper, a moan escaping your lips.

It’s intoxicating, the way your bodies move together, the way every roll of your hips sends ripples of pleasure through both your pussies.

“Fuck,” ellie breathes, her voice low and filled with a mix of need and awe, her eyes locked onto yours as you move together, a slow, delicious rhythm that feels like it’s been waiting for this moment for years.

“Come here,” she begs, pulling you closer, her grip tightening as you continue to grind against her. The slick sound echos in the air, mingling with the soft moans that slip from your lips. Each sound you makes pulls ellie deeper, melody that makes her crave more.

Ellie shifts beneath you, her body arching in a way that allows you to scissor closer. You can see the way her chest rises and falls, each breath heavy. Your eyes flutter shut for a moment, lost in the sensations, and ellie takes the opportunity to lean down, her lips brushing against your ear as she whispers, “You feel so fucking good, baby.”

The sound of her voice makes your pussy pulsate, your eyes snapping open as they lock onto hers. “d-don’t stop,” you breathe, your voice trembling with urgency. “I need m-more.”

“God, you’re s-so fucking good,” she whispers, her voice thick with desire, her gaze locked on yours, as if she’s trying to memorize every detail of this moment.

Ellie’s hands slide down your body, exploring every curve, every contour as she pulls you closer, her fingers digging into your skin, leaving marks that will linger long after this night.

“Ellie...” you breathe, the name falling from your mouth like a prayer. “Please, I need to feel you closer,” you whisper, voice all shaky.

Ellie gives in to the rhythm, moving faster, harder, each thrust sending shudders of pleasure racing through both of you. Your moans come out loud and whiny, mingling with Ellie’s desperate gasps.

“Fuck, yes!” You breathe, your body arching into hers, your hands gripping her arms as she pulls you closer. You can feel the tension building between you, the way your body responds together, every roll of your hips bringing you both closer to cumming.

“Don’t stop!” Ellie lets out a soft cry, her body tensing beneath you as the pleasure washes over her. You feel the way her body responds to yours, and it sends you tumbling over the edge, your own pleasure crashing down, pulling you both into ecstasy.

You collapse against her, breathless and trembling, the world around you fading away as you savor the warmth of her body against yours, the softness of her skin, and the way your bodies still pulse.

You turn your head slightly, your eyes catching a glimpse of the half-finished paintings scattered around her apartment, the abstract strokes, the splashes of color that seem almost chaotic, like her thoughts spilled out onto the canvas. You can’t help but wonder if you’ll be another one of those unfinished things—something she can’t quite complete, something left unresolved, a work in progress that she never intended to finish.

There’s a lump forming in your throat, but you push it down.

You won’t wake up to her. Not tomorrow, not ever. Ellie will go back to her life, and you’ll go back to yours, and this night will fade into the past, becoming another memory, another fragment of what you once had together.

With a quiet sigh, you press a gentle kiss to her shoulder.

1K notes · View notes

mimipolo · 6 months ago

Note

i am begging

the «reuniting with your ex in the games» BUT it’s Nam-gyu falling for Thanos’ ex😭😭

Nam-gyu x reader

|This was fun to write but I'm not totally sure I did the idea justice

|Also guys when I finish all the requests I DO write for other Squid Game characters especially if they're underrated 🤞

It was easy to want to find a distraction during the games, the pressure of just wanting to survive and leave with a pretty amount of cash being the only thing pushing him forward.

But conventionally that's when he noticed you. It was during the 6-legged race, you had already formed a reliable looking group and were encouraging a frantic looking man. He didn't understand how he had missed you throughout the other games but now his eyes always drew back to you like a magnet.

You weren't even doing anything that special, just talking to that bastard's chic that left him broke. It was your soft look of concern for her that had him falter slightly, he was holding his food as he stared in your direction.

He wanted to talk to you, badly.

As he's biting the inside of his lip, considering whether or not you'll ignore him a familiar cheerful voice comes up from behind. Thanos lazily swinging an arm around his shoulder.

"Whatcha looking at ma boy?" He asked in a playful tone, grinning dopily as he follows Nam-gyu's line of sight, only to land on. You.

His face screws up dramatically as he looks between the stricken look on his friends face and then back to you. Nam-gyu's about to speak up and ask Thanos to hype him up to go talk to you but he's not given a chance when he's suddenly being dragged towards him by both shoulders.

Thanos leans in to whisper, but he's still comically loud. "Nah man, that's my ex, total priss. Trust me you don't want that." But thing is he wanted it, and bad.

He's momentarily speechless as he glances between you and Thanos, torn between his loyalty and this new warm feeling you're giving him. "Yeah...uh huh." He doesn't mean a word of it, you're definitely going to remain on his mind until he can find another way to get to you. He's brought out his thoughts by a clap to his back. "Right idea man." He says nodding his head with a furrowed lip before spinning on his heel to bother someone else, most likely Se-mi.

He couldn't care less what he was on about, your smile was sweet and he felt eager to get your care and attention on him instead. Nodding to himself with a new found resolution as we walked to his bunk to eat his food.

It was honestly unbearable trying to ignore your prescence, he's high off his rockets but he's still looking up at the ceiling stupidly as he tried not to make it obvious he was actually looking at your way and you're only standing in front of him amongst a vast crowd.

Everyone was on their way to the next game, though the colours seemed to blur and blend together he could make out a stage which everyone instinctively stepped on. What kinda game is this supposed to be? His mind is too jumbled to decipher everything like he usually would and he finds himself easily joining in on Thanos' antics.

Blood smeared the doors and floors, the mocking song that blared from above ringing in his ears. All he really had to do was get into a group with the right number, that's all, if he could understand that at least he'd be just fine.

"Two!"

The child like voice sung out and for the last time chaos erupted. His gaze immediately moves to locate Thanos, they had been in every room together so far so he didn't think this time would be any different.

Apparently he judged wrong.

The purple head of hair making some unexplainable noise before grabbing Min-su by the shoulder and skipping off.

What. The hell.

He wanted to kill him, wrap his fingers around his neck and wring him to death, taking his cross as a reward. But now wasn't the time to fantasize. He was quickly growing irritated, cursing under his breath as he looked for anyone he could easily grab.

And that's when his eyes locked with yours.

You look as frantic as he is, and he's genuinely disturbed to realise that all he's thinking about is that you noticed him in this bloody situation. He's stopped in his tracks but you're rapidly advancing towards him, grabbing his arm roughly and tugging him towards a door, not even bothering to give him the chance to accept. He wouldn't have said no way.

When another desperate player tries to grab you to join their room he quickly comes back to reality, swaggerdly pushing the man away from you and rushing to close the door behind the two of you and locking it.

You're panting. Hair falling out your hairband which you briefly grab and retie. Finally your face rises to meet his eye, finally. His back is pressed to the door still, content on watching you do the simple action of tieing your hair back. Noticing your now slightly relieved gaze on him a helplessly boyish grin forms on his face as he swallows shallowly.

"Hey."

"Hi..."

His minds scattered and he's looking for words to say to you but he's cut off by the announcement that it was safe to leave the rooms. Seeing you lean off the wall to leave he steps aside, if he was sober he would've cringed at how you didn't even have to say a word to him to get him to move. He doesn't care right now, pleased to watch your retreating back profile.

His heart stutters slightly when you turn back to look at him with tired yet considerate eyes.

"Think the game is over, you coming?"

He breathes out deeply through his nostrils as he tucks his hair behind his ears as he speeds up to walk beside you. He was doing a terrible job of trying to suppress the smug grin threatening to reveal itself but you didn't seem to notice and if you did you were mostly unbothered. Instead prioritising looking around to see the remaining surviving players.

When your eyes meet with a certain someone. Sensing the shift in your mood he doesn't know why he's surprised to see a still cheerful Thanos leaving a room with Min-su meekly following behind. His mood clearly shifts when he catches sight of you, quickly approaching the two of you, shooting Nam-gyu a judging look.

"You bitch... who woulda thought you'd end up here when you left ya boy when he was at his worst."

"We're not doing this right now, I'm tired man." He scoffs and crosses his arms at your words, rolling his eyes as he rocks from side to side.

"Convenient of you to leave after the fuck up at the competition."

"Well yeah, you managed to find a new hobby I wasn't a fan of."

You spat the words out bitterly, only getting another tsk from Thanos as he tongued his teeth. Nam-gyu could feel himself sobering up and he was able to recognise he was getting to see you up close, how grateful he was. Even if you were scolding his best friend, that scowl on your face making his heart race.

Unexpectedly those pretty eyes turn to look at him questioningly, looking him over carefully.

"You close with him?"

God knew how badly he wanted to say no to have a chance of gaining your favour but an alliance with Thanos had still done him good until now, even when he ditched him. He bit his inner cheek as he looked anywhere but your eyes.

"Yeah..."

"I see."

Thanos honestly felt offended seeing how reluctant Nam-gyu looked to admit he knew him but before he could throw any sort of tantrum he's being ushered away from you and towards the crowd of disheartened people heading for the exit. A small laugh leaves you as you watch the two, stuffing your hands in your pockets as you watched them. That guy, he didn't seem the type to be around someone like your ex, at least from what you saw today.

Everyone's currently catching their breaths and mourning those they lost. Thanos was occupied with rapping random lyrics at Se-mi and Min-su, meaning a great opportunity to potentially sneak off and see you. He wouldn't ask for anymore of those pills, he needed full focus right now, and this time analyse every curve of your face to the t.

Se-mi spares him a mean side glance as she notices him slipping away, only sighing and leaning her cheek on her palm. She couldn't care less for where he was going but she wouldn't lie and say she wasn't slightly surprised to see the man leave his dictator's side without an announcement.

You're sitting on the edge of one of the bunks, mindlessly staring towards the floor, the small group of friends you had made had been illuminated in the last game and it had left your last source of community disjointed and broken.

Your head perks up at the sound of someone clearing their throat, your brows raising slightly when you find it's the guy from before. You smile lightly at him and he swears he's found the meaning of life.

"We were a pretty good duo in that last game huh?"

"Guess you could say that."

"I was uh thinking. I could try and convince Thanos to let you in our group. I know he's-"

"I'm good."

Your blatant rejection stung more than it should, instinctively tucking his hair behind his ears.

"Thanks though, I appreciate the thought."

"Oh, course."

Immediately he forgets about all the ways he could try and convince you. Spacing out at your oddly gentle sounding words that had him strung on each syllable. He's dumbly nodding as he looks up at you with his hands peaking out his tracksuit.

"You're not as bad as him."

You say honestly, you knew of your ex's right hand but he had never particularly stood out to you until now, and at his luck in a generally good light. Tilting your head at him at his silence you sigh and lean back on your hands.

"You shouldn't listen to him too much."

"Right, yeah."

"What's your name by the way, mines [Name]."

He hadn't realised that you didn't know he already knew your name. It took several on the low eavesdropping sessions but it was a prize he proudly acquired himself. Chuckling sarcastically at himself he realised you had also asked him his.

"Nam-gyu. I know Thanos is a dick and all but you can come to me... If you want."

He had an easy going expression on but his heart was racing and he genuinely feared it might stop right in front of you, he's convinced he's pushed this too far already, obviously you'd want nothing to do with him when he's literally best friends with your ex. Yet you chuckle slightly and give a soft nod in return, a knowing smile he felt he'd been waiting ages to be directed at him.

"I'll keep that in mind, Nam-gyu."

Fucking jackpot.

#squid game #squid game x reader #nam gyu #nam-gyu x reader #player 124 #nam gyu x reader #player 124 x reader #games

583 notes · View notes

julietsf1 · 6 months ago

Text

A Technical Mistake - Franco Colapinto x Reader

summary: peaceful paddock mornings of stocking caps and shirts are flipped upside down when Franco Colapinto, a charming stranger she assumes is part of the AV crew, comes into her store and gives her weekend an unexpected turn. (7k words)

content: big misunderstanding; cute Franco; reader is a normal working girl

AN: I am such a sucker for stories with a little cinderella vibe! I was thinking of buying the blue Williams jacket on track in Brazil but it was so spenny! send me ur sugar daddies pls!

-------------------------------------------------

The paddock was eerily quiet, an almost sacred calm before the storm of engines roaring, fans screaming, and journalists scrambling for the latest drama. The air was crisp, carrying the faint scent of rubber—a smell I’d grown oddly fond of over the years.

This was my favorite time of the weekend. Before the rush, before the chaos of customers demanding sizes and colors we didn’t have, I could take a moment to breathe, to organize the merchandise store in peace.

“Me bajé del avión, voy corriendo para verte…” I sang softly, shimmying a little as I balanced a stack of Williams caps. The sound of Duki was the perfect soundtrack to my morning. The melody took over, and before I knew it, I was halfway moonwalking back to the Ferrari section, twirling a hanger between my fingers like I was starring in some kind of musical.

The song’s beat was about to drop when a voice cut through my impromptu performance.

“¿Y siempre bailás así mientras laburás, o es solo un show privado?” (Do you always dance like this while working, or is it just a private show?)

I froze mid-step, almost dropping the caps in my hands. Whipping around, my heart racing, I found myself face-to-face with a guy leaning against the doorframe. He had this ridiculous grin plastered across his face, his green eyes sparkling with amusement.

“¡Ah!” I yelped, clutching my chest. “Perdón, I didn’t—uh… ¿qué?” (Sorry, I didn’t—uh… what?)

He raised an eyebrow, clearly enjoying my flustered reaction. “Te pregunté si siempre bailás así mientras laburás.” (I asked if you always dance like that while working.)

Heat crept up my neck, and I scrambled to pull myself together. “Oh, uh… sí. Quiero decir, no. Bueno, depende…” (Yes. I mean, no. Well, it depends…)

His grin widened. “No pensé que alguien en el paddock también escuchara a Duki. ¿Sabías que el último álbum es una obra maestra? La forma en que mezcla el trap con el reguetón es una locura—” (! I didn’t think anyone in the paddock listened to Duki too. Did you know his latest album is a masterpiece? The way he mixes trap with reggaeton is insane—)

“Eh, pará,” (Wait, hold up,), I interrupted, holding up a hand, feeling my brain short-circuit as I tried to keep up with his rapid Spanish. “Hablo un poco español… pero no muy bien.” (I speak a little spanish… but not very well.)

That gave him half a second of pause before he broke into laughter. “¿No muy bien? Pero me contestaste perfecto.” (Not very well? But you answered me perfectly.) His tone was teasing, but there was no malice—just genuine warmth. “Igual, perdón. A veces hablo mucho. Es que me emocioné.” (Sorry. Sometimes I talk too much. I just got excited.)

I blinked, thrown off by his sudden shift to sincerity. “No, no, está bien. Me gusta Duki también.” (No, no, it’s okay. I like Duki too.)

“¡Ah, viste!” (Ah, see!), he said, throwing his hands up in delight. “¿Cuál es tu canción favorita? Mirá, ‘Goteo’ siempre me pone de buen humor, pero ‘She Don’t Give a Fo’ es un clásico. Y si me decís que ‘Chico Estrella’ no te gusta, no sé si podemos ser amigos.” (What’s your favorite song? Look, ‘Goteo’ always puts me in a good mood, but ‘She Don’t Give a Fo’ is a classic. And if you tell me you don’t like ‘Chico Estrella,’ I don’t know if we can be friends.)

I stared at him, trying to decipher his rapid enthusiasm. I caught about half of what he said, but his energy was infectious. “Uh… ‘Chico Estrella’ es muy buena,” (‘Chico Estrella’ is very good,), I ventured cautiously, hoping I wasn’t completely misinterpreting him.

His hand went to his chest like I’d just said something profound. “Sabía que eras de las mías. Esto es destino.” (I knew you were one of mine. This is destiny.)

I couldn’t help it—I laughed. “¿Siempre hablás tanto con gente que no conocés?” (Do you always talk this much to people you don’t know?)

“Solo con la gente que escucha buena música,” (Only with people who listen to good music,), he replied smoothly, then added with a wink, “Soy Franco, por cierto. Mucho gusto.” (I’m Franco, by the way. Nice to meet you.)

“Oh, eh… Y/N,” I said, shaking his outstretched hand briefly. “Mucho gusto.” (Nice to meet you.)

“Y/N,” he repeated, like he was savoring the sound of it. “Bueno, ¿qué estás haciendo? ¿Preparando todo para el gran finde?” (So, what are you doing? Getting everything ready for the big weekend?)

“Sí.” I nodded, switching back to English because I knew I was about to run out of Spanish confidence. “I’m setting up the store. It’s… not super exciting.”

“¡Claro que sí!” (Of course it is!) he replied, not missing a beat. “Look at this—hats, shirts, models of cars. Very exciting.”

I laughed, shaking my head. “Right. And what about you?”

“I’m here for the soundcheck,” he replied with a grin.

“Soundcheck?” I frowned. “Oh, like for the AV stuff?”

“Exactly.” His lips twitched, like he was holding back a laugh. “The audio visual stuff. Very technical, very important. You know how it is.”

“Uh-huh,” I said, raising an eyebrow. “So why are you hanging out here instead of being ‘very technical’?”

“Because,” he said, his grin widening, “I heard someone singing Duki and thought, wow.”

“Oh my God.” I groaned, turning back to my work. “I wasn’t singing.”

“You were definitely singing.”

“And I wasn’t dancing,” I added quickly.

“Sure,” he said, clearly unconvinced. “That little move you did with your feet? Totally not dancing.”

“Okay, fine!” I laughed, throwing my hands up. “I was dancing. But you’re not supposed to be here yet, so technically, you shouldn’t have seen it.”

“Technically, I shouldn’t be here at all,” he said with a shrug, “but aren’t you glad I am?”

“No, actually,” I deadpanned, though my grin gave me away.

Franco laughed, glancing at the pile of caps balanced precariously on the counter. “You’re doing heavy lifting, huh? Don’t knock over anything else.”

“That was an accident!” I protested. “The shelves are wobbly.”

“Right. The shelves are wobbly,” he nodded sagely. “Not because you panicked when someone caught you salsa dancing.”

I groaned, burying my face in my hands. “Oh my God, just go do your soundcheck!”

“Okay, okay, I’m going. But seriously, next time I’m back, I expect a full choreography.”

Peeking through my fingers, I saw him give me a playful wave before stepping out. For a moment, I just stood there, trying—and failing—to fight the smile creeping onto my face.

…

The paddock was already alive with early risers: engineers carrying coffee cups larger than their heads, journalists muttering into their phones, and the occasional VIP wandering too close to restricted areas before being politely redirected. I tightened my jacket against the crisp morning air, balancing a tray of new Williams caps as I unlocked the shop.

Friday had been a whirlwind of chaos—overwhelming, exhausting, but honestly kind of fun. The memory of my unexpected visitor lingered, his laughter and that unmistakable grin replaying in my mind. Franco. I didn’t know why he stuck out so much.

I hummed as I worked, letting my playlist fill the silence of the shop. I was halfway through adjusting a tower of Ferrari shirts when his voice rang out again.

“Bizarrap now? Y/N where have you been all this time”

I jumped, narrowly avoiding knocking over the display. “Oh my God, you really need to stop sneaking up on me!”

Franco leaned casually against the doorframe, thermos in hand, his green eyes sparkling with mischief. “It’s not my fault you’re always in the middle of a dance routine when I show up.”

“Maybe if you showed up at a normal time, I wouldn’t be,” I shot back, though I couldn’t hide my grin.

“Nah, that’d be boring,” he said with a shrug, stepping inside like he belonged there. “And anyway, I was just passing by. Thought I’d check if my favorite shop manager was still here.”

“You mean the shop manager,” I corrected, setting the shirts down. “Unless you’re making house calls for all the merch shops on track now.”

Franco chuckled, unscrewing the lid of his thermos. “Only the best ones.”

My eyes flicked to the thermos, curiosity piqued. “Is that… for maté?”

“Yeah!” His face lit up like I’d just asked if he wanted to talk about his favorite thing in the world. “Do you know it?”

“I’ve heard of it,” I admitted. “Isn’t it like… tea?”

“Like tea?” He clutched his chest in mock offense. “You’re killing me. It’s more than tea. It’s life itself. It’s tradition. It’s community. It’s—”

“Okay, okay!” I laughed, holding up my hands. “So it is better than tea, I assume?”

Franco grinned, pulling out the gourd and bombilla. “I’m about to change your life. Want to try?”

“Sure,” I said, hesitating only briefly before taking the gourd he offered. I sipped cautiously, my expression shifting from surprise to delight. “Oh! This is actually really good.”

“See!” Franco said, looking far too pleased with himself. “I knew I liked you.”

“Right,” I said with a laugh. “Glad to have passed the test.”

“So, how was yesterday? Did the paddock treat you well?”

I groaned, leaning against the counter. “If you consider someone asking if I had Ferrari shirts in passionfruit purple treating me well, then sure.”

Franco choked on his sip, coughing through his laughter. “Passionfruit purple? What does that even mean?”

“I have no idea!” I exclaimed, throwing my hands up. “I tried to tell him we only have red, black, and white, and he told me that wasn’t his problem and I should go find some elsewhere.”

“Classic paddock VIP,” Franco said, shaking his head. “What else?”

“Oh, then there was this woman who wanted me to bedazzle her Red Bull polo. While she waited.”

“She expected you to add rhinestones? To a team shirt?” Franco asked, looking genuinely dumbfounded.

“That’s exactly what she thought,” I said, laughed. “When I said we can’t do that, she asked if I at least had Swarovski crystals on hand for her to do it herself, because she wasn’t going to her after party without extra sparkle.”

Franco joined in, leaning against the counter and shaking his head. “I don’t know how you put up with this.”

“And what about you?” I asked, raising an eyebrow. “Any exciting AV work today?”

Franco paused, a slight smirk tugging at his lips. “You could say that. It’s a little more... hands-on today, you know?”

“Right,” I said, nodding as if I understood. “Lots of wires and soundboards, I bet. Very technical.”

“What can I say?” Franco replied, his grin widening. “I’m a man of many talents.”

“Clearly.” I gestured to the thermos. “Like carrying around fancy tea and converting clueless shop managers into maté fans.”

“Fancy tea again? Y/N, you’re killing me,” he said, clutching his chest.

I laughed, shaking my head. “Alright, alright. I’ll respect the maté. But only because it’s actually pretty good.”

“Good answer,” he said, giving me a wink.

For a moment, we just stood there, the comfortable silence punctuated by the distant hum of the paddock coming to life.

“You know,” Franco said finally, glancing at his watch, “I should probably get going. Qualifying’s not going to prepare itself.”

“Oh, right. Your very important AV duties,” I said, trying to keep a straight face.

“Exactly.” He lingered for a second longer before turning toward the door. “Don’t let anyone ask you for passionfruit purple hats today.”

“No promises,” I called after him.

As the door swung shut behind him, I found myself smiling again. There was something about Franco—something easy and infectious—that made my day feel a little lighter.

…

In the evening the paddock got quiet, the hum of activity winding down as the sun dipped below the horizon. Most of the crowd had dispersed, leaving behind the faint sounds of tools clinking in garages and muted laughter from hospitality suites above.

I finished wiping down the counter, my eyes scanning the shelves for anything out of place. There was still inventory to complete, but for now, the stillness felt like a small victory.

I was halfway through adjusting a rack of shirts when a voice broke the silence.

“You haven’t closed the shop yet?”

I turned, heart skipping a beat, to see Franco leaning against the doorframe. His hoodie and cap cast his face in partial shadow, but his green eyes were unmistakable, glinting with mischief.

“You again?” I said, a laugh bubbling up despite my surprise. “What is this, your evening shift?”

“Exactly,” he said, stepping inside like he owned the place. “Someone’s gotta make sure everything’s in order.”

“Right,” I replied, crossing my arms. “Because you’re clearly the expert on retail management.”

Franco grinned, brushing past me to inspect the hats on display. “You’re doing a great job, by the way. Everything looks very... symmetrical.”

“Thanks for the expert feedback,” I said, laughing. “Shouldn’t you be doing something important right now? Like, I don’t know, AV things?”

“Done for the day,” he said, casually flipping a hat onto its stand. “And anyway, I couldn’t just walk by without saying hi.”

“Sure,” I said, trying to sound unimpressed, though the warmth creeping into my cheeks betrayed me.

Franco leaned against the counter, his gaze sweeping over my setup. “So, how’s it going? Any more requests for glitter shirts?”

“Oh, you wouldn’t believe it,” I said, laughing. “Someone asked if I had a distressed Mercedes hoodie for them. ‘Rick Owens’ vibe was what they said, I believe.”

Franco snorted, shaking his head. “And what did you say?”

“I told them I didn’t think team-approved merch came pre-ripped,” I replied. “They asked if I had scissors.”

He laughed, the sound warm and easy. “You’re a stronger person than me. I’d have handed them the scissors and said, ‘Go for it.’”

“Don’t tempt me,” I said, grinning.

As we talked, the tension of the day melted away, replaced by the effortless rhythm of our banter. He had this way of making me feel at ease, even when I was convinced he was only here to tease me.

Eventually, I glanced at the clock. “Alright, I need to lock up.”

“Let me help,” Franco offered, already moving to grab a stray box of caps.

“You don’t have to—”

“I insist,” he said, flashing me a playful grin. “What kind of company would I be if I didn’t pitch in?”

I rolled my eyes but didn’t argue, watching as he stacked the box neatly against the wall.

“Thanks,” I said as I double-checked the locks.

“No problem,” he replied, leaning casually against the door. “So... do you ever get to enjoy the race, or are you always stuck in here?”

I shrugged. “Not really. I mean, I can hear the cars and feel the atmosphere, which is cool, but I’m usually too busy to watch.”

He raised an eyebrow, a slow grin spreading across his face. “Wanna change that?”

“What?”

“Come with me,” he said, gesturing toward the staircase. “The garage should still be open.”

I blinked, caught off guard. “The garage? I don’t think I’m allowed over there. Are you even allowed there?”

“Don’t worry about that,” he said, his grin widening. “You’re with me. No one’s going to stop us.”

“Franco…”

“Come on,” he said, holding out his hand. “Live a little.”

After a moment’s hesitation, I sighed and followed him, my heart racing as we crossed the paddock.

The Williams garage was eerily quiet, a stark contrast to the bustling paddock outside. The bright fluorescent lights highlighted every polished surface, and the sleek car sat in the middle of the space like a centerpiece in a gallery. It felt strangely intimate, with no engineers or team members left. I hesitated just outside the entrance, my nerves catching up with me now that we were here.

“Are you sure about this?” I asked, clutching my bag tightly. “It’s... empty.”

“That’s the best part,” Franco replied, his grin widening as he gestured for me to follow him inside. “No one to stop us.”

I paused, glancing around the pristine space. “I don’t know... This feels like trespassing.”

“It’s not trespassing if I’m the one who brought you,” he said, walking backward as if to coax me forward. “Come on. Live a little.”

I sighed but couldn’t fight back my smile as I followed him in, my sneakers squeaking faintly against the shiny floor. The atmosphere was surreal, and the closer we got to the car, the more my awe grew. I’d seen Formula 1 cars on TV, in pictures, even on the paddock screens—but standing next to one was an entirely different experience.

Franco smirked, gesturing toward the car. “Look here,” he said, crouching slightly to point out the edge of the floorboard. “See how the side pods curve in? That’s for cooling. Air flows through there to keep the engine temperature stable. Without it, you’re toast by lap ten.”

I leaned closer, my brow furrowing as I followed his line of sight. “So... it’s like a high-tech air conditioner for the car?”

“Exactly,” he said, his grin widening. “Though we call it aero. Sounds cooler, right?”

I rolled my eyes. “Sure. Very fancy.”

Franco stood and walked toward the rear wing, beckoning me to follow. “And this—this is where all the magic happens.”

I trailed after him, folding my arms as he gestured to the intricate structure of the wing. “Let me guess. It’s, uh, what keeps the car from flying off the track?”

“Close,” Franco said, clearly enjoying my attempt. “It’s all about downforce. The rear wing pushes the car into the track so we can go faster through corners. Too little, and you’re skidding all over the place. Too much, and you’re slower on the straights. It’s a balancing act.”

My eyes flicked to the faintly scuffed surface of the wing. “Is that why it looks so... fragile? Like one bump and it’ll fall apart?”

Franco chuckled. “It’s tougher than it looks. But yeah, you don’t want to crash into someone—or something. The engineers would cry.”

I laughed, picturing an entire team of engineers in despair over a dented wing. “So, you actually know what all this stuff does?”

“Of course,” Franco said, his tone almost offended but playful.

“I mean, for an AV guy, you’re awfully... knowledgeable,” I said, narrowing my eyes at him.

He paused, a flicker of amusement crossing his face. “Let’s just say I pay attention.”

“This is insane,” I whispered, taking in all the intricate details of the car again. “It’s... beautiful.”

Franco chuckled. “That’s one way to describe it. Most people just say, ‘Fast.’”

“Well, it’s that too,” I said, shooting him a look. “But seriously... It’s like art.”

“Art that goes over 300 kilometers per hour,” he said, his grin softening. “Wanna sit in it?”

I froze, turning to him with wide eyes. “What? No. I can’t do that.”

“Of course you can,” Franco said, already moving toward the cockpit. “Come on, it’s not going to bite.”

I hesitated, glancing between him and the car. There was something in his expression—playful, but also genuinely encouraging—that made me relent. “Fine. But if anyone finds out, I’m blaming you.”

“Deal,” he said, helping me climb in.

The cockpit was snug—far tighter than I’d expected—and I felt awkward as I tried to maneuver my legs into position. Once I was settled, I placed my hands on the steering wheel cautiously, my heart racing.

“This feels... surreal,” I said, staring at the wheel.

“You look like a pro already,” Franco said, crouching beside the car with his phone in hand.

“Don’t you dare,” I warned, catching the gleam in his eyes.

“Too late,” he said, snapping a picture before I could protest.

“Franco!”

“What?” he said innocently, holding up the photo for me to see. “Look, it’s a good angle. Very Instagram-worthy.”

I groaned, but I couldn’t help laughing. “I look ridiculous.”

“You look cool,” he corrected, saving the photo. “But don’t worry—I’ll send it to you. For your mom, obviously.”

I laughed, the tension easing slightly. “Oh yeah, because my mom’s dying to see me breaking rules in the paddock.”

“She’ll be proud,” Franco said, standing up. “Here, try this.”

He handed me a helmet, which I reluctantly placed on my head. It was far too big, wobbling precariously as I adjusted the strap.

“Okay, this is worse,” I said, my voice muffled by the helmet. “I look like a bobblehead.”

Franco burst out laughing, doubling over as he tried to steady himself. “You’re not wrong, but it’s adorable.”

“Adorable?” I repeated, narrowing my eyes.

“Definitely,” he said, snapping another picture before I could stop him.

“You’re actually the worst, you know that?” I said, reaching to swat the phone from his hand, but he dodged easily.

“Admit it,” he teased, slipping the phone into his pocket. “You’re having fun.”

I paused, the weight of the helmet making me grin. “Maybe a little.”

“Good,” Franco said, setting the phone down. “That’s the point.”

As we wandered back toward the front of the garage, I couldn’t help glancing over my shoulder at the car one last time. It felt like I’d just stepped into another universe, one far removed from the chaos of my usual day.

“Thanks for this,” I said quietly. “It was... unexpected. In a good way.”

“Anytime,” Franco said, his smile genuine. “Next time, we’ll take it for a spin.”

I snorted. “Yeah, no thanks. I like having a license.”

…

My phone buzzed in my pocket as we reached the door to the paddock’s outer corridor. I pulled it out and glanced at the screen: my colleague’s name lighting up in bold letters.

“Oh shoot,” I said, answering quickly. “Hey, yeah, sorry! I’m on my way now.”

Franco raised an eyebrow, waiting patiently as I finished the call.

“Forgot I’m carpooling,” I explained as I tucked my phone away. “I’m supposed to meet my colleague Alicia in the parking lot, like... five minutes ago.”

“Lucky for you, I know the way,” Franco said with a grin. “Come on. I’ll walk you.”

“You don’t have to,” I said, even as I fell into step beside him.

“I insist,” he said, slipping his hands into his hoodie pockets. “It’s dangerous out there. You might get mobbed by someone asking for sapphire-blue polos again.”

I laughed. “Good point. Better bring backup.”

We walked together through the quiet paddock, the sounds of the race weekend fading into the background. Franco’s pace was unhurried, as if he had all the time in the world, and I found myself relaxing despite the mild panic of running late.

“So,” Franco said after a beat, “what’s the plan? Dinner, sleep, and back to the chaos tomorrow?”

“Pretty much,” I replied. “I’ll probably be dreaming about misplaced hats and impossible customer requests.”

“Sounds thrilling,” he teased, glancing over at me.

“Oh, it’s a dream come true,” I joked.

When we reached the parking lot, I slowed, turning toward him. “Thanks for walking me. You didn’t have to, but... it was nice.”

“Don’t mention it,” he said easily, his grin softening. “Oh, before you go—what’s your Instagram?”

“My Instagram?” I repeated, blinking.

“Yeah,” he said, pulling out his phone. “I’ll send you the pictures. Besides, it’s a nice excuse to text you later.”

His tone was casual, but the glint in his eyes gave away the playful intent.

“Smooth,” I said, smiling as I typed my handle into his phone.

“What can I say?” he replied, tucking his phone back into his pocket. “I’ve got my moments.”

I laughed, shaking my head as I turned to leave. But before I’d even made it to Alicia’s car, my phone buzzed again.

I glanced down at the screen, expecting a message, but instead, I saw a follow request. Franco Colapinto.

Curious, I tapped on his profile—and froze.

There it was, plain as day: Williams Racing Driver.

My jaw dropped. I turned back toward him, still standing where we’d parted, a smirk playing on his lips as he caught me staring.

“You’re a driver?” I asked, loud enough for him to hear across the lot.

He sauntered closer, his grin widening. “Didn’t I mention that?”

“No!” I said, my cheeks warming. “You let me think you were just—”

“Just what?” he asked, his voice full of teasing amusement. “The AV guy?”

“Yes!”

Franco laughed, the sound warm and easy. “I never said that. You just assumed. I wasn’t about to ruin the fun.”

I opened my mouth to argue but stopped, caught off guard by the way he was looking at me—not smug, but something softer.

“You’re enjoying yourself way too much right now.”

“Can you blame me?” he said, his grin widening.

I felt my cheeks warm and quickly looked away, fiddling with a stray cap on the counter. “Well, excuse me for not keeping tabs on every random person who shows up in the paddock.”

“Random?” he gasped dramatically, leaning closer. “You wound me, Y/N.”

I tried to suppress a smile, focusing hard on arranging the caps. “You know what I mean.”

Franco’s teasing softened, and his voice lowered just enough to make my pulse quicken. “Don’t worry. I get it. I joined mid-season—no merch, no big fuss. Kind of nice, actually.”

I shook my head, biting back a smile as Alicia honked the car horn, impatient. I glanced over my shoulder, then back at Franco.

“Well, good luck tomorrow, driver,” I said, emphasizing the word with a playful grin.

“Thanks,” he said, stepping closer, his tone dipping into something more deliberate. “And if I score points, you’ll come celebrate, right?”

I tilted my head, pretending to consider it. “I don’t know... What kind of celebration are we talking about?”

“The fun kind,” he said, his green eyes glinting. “Drinks, music... Maybe even some dancing, if you’re up for it.”

My cheeks warmed again, but this time I didn’t shy away. “Alright. If you score points, I’m in.”

“Good,” he said, stepping back with a wink. “I’ll hold you to that.”

I turned and headed to Alicia’s car, my heart racing for reasons that had nothing to do with the hurried pace. As I slid into the passenger seat, my phone buzzed again—a message from Franco.

You’re going to have fun tomorrow. Trust me. ;)

I couldn’t help but smile as I replied: You better deliver, Colapinto.

…

Franco had just wrapped up his post-race interviews, a mix of exhilaration and exhaustion coursing through him. Eighth place—points for Williams. It wasn’t a podium, but it felt like a win. The team’s hospitality suite loomed just ahead, buzzing with the chatter of staff, sponsors, and VIP guests waiting to congratulate him.

The Williams event manager was already gesturing for him to join the group. “Franco, let’s keep moving. You’re late for the team celebration.”

But Franco barely slowed his stride. His gaze flicked across the paddock and landed on the merchandise store. His grin widened.

“Give me a minute,” he said, waving her off.

“Franco—” she started, exasperated, but he was already heading toward the shop.

…

I was busy ringing up yet another Charles Leclerc cap when I felt the store’s energy shift. A hush swept over the customers, quickly replaced by murmurs.

“Is that...?” one whispered loudly.

“Oh my God, it’s Franco Colapinto!” another exclaimed.

I glanced up, my heart skipping a beat as Franco strolled in, still wearing his race suit, unzipped to reveal the Williams-branded undershirt beneath. His hair was slightly tousled, and he had that unmistakable post-race glow—the combination of effort and adrenaline that made him look annoyingly good. His green eyes scanned the shop before locking onto me.

He ignored the sudden buzz of whispers and phones being whipped out, walking straight to the counter with that easy confidence.

“Well?” he said, leaning on the counter with a grin.

“Well, what?” I asked, trying to keep my voice steady even as my heart raced.

“I delivered,” he said casually, though the pride in his voice was unmistakable.

“Congratulations,” I said warmly, matching his grin despite myself. “Eighth place, right?”

“That’s right.” He leaned closer, his grin softening into something a little more intimate. “And now I’m here to confirm our deal.”

“Our deal?” I asked, feigning ignorance just to tease him.

Franco let out a mock groan, shaking his head. “Don’t play coy. You promised to celebrate if I scored points.”

“Did I?” I asked, my eyes twinkling with amusement.

“Y/N,” he said, his voice dropping just enough to send a flutter through my chest. “Don’t make me beg.”

Behind him, a small group of customers was watching the interaction with barely-contained excitement. One braver fan held up a notebook. “Franco! Can you sign this?”

Without even looking back, Franco waved a hand in polite dismissal. “Not now, amigo.”

Another fan piped up, “Are you actually in here to buy something?”

Franco turned his head slightly, smirking. “Nah, just confirming plans. Way more important.”

I bit my lip to keep from laughing as the customers exchanged incredulous looks. Turning my attention back to him, I tilted my head. “Alright, alright. I’ll keep my word. What’s the plan?”

“I’ll send you the details later,” Franco said, standing up straight. His voice softened, a teasing glint in his eyes. “No backing out. You owe me one for carrying all those hats yesterday.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” I replied, my cheeks warming under his gaze.

“Good,” Franco said, stepping back with a wink.

Just as he turned to leave, the sharply-dressed Williams event manager appeared in the doorway, clipboard clutched tightly. “Franco! There you are. Hospitality, now. You’re already late.”

“On my way,” he said, before glancing back at me one last time. “I’ll see you tonight, Y/N.”

“See you,” I replied, my voice light but sincere.

With one final wink, he spun on his heel and strode out of the store, leaving a trail of astonished fans and a flustered me in his wake. As the door swung shut behind him, I caught sight of him being hurried across the paddock by the event manager, his confident stride unshaken.

…

The rooftop lounge was bathed in golden light, the glittering city skyline providing a stunning backdrop. The hum of conversation, the clink of champagne glasses, and bursts of laughter filled the air, creating the perfect atmosphere for celebration. Franco had done it—points for Williams, a solid achievement for the team and a personal milestone for him.

I hesitated as I stepped onto the terrace, smoothing down my black dress. The outfit wasn’t anything too fancy, but it felt a world apart from my usual paddock uniform. My nerves buzzed, not because of the party but because of who had insisted I come.

I spotted Franco near the balcony, his white shirt rolled up at the sleeves, a drink in hand as he nodded politely at something a sponsor was saying. His posture was relaxed, but his eyes flicked over the crowd with purpose. When his gaze landed on me, his grin spread instantly, bright and unmistakably boyish.

“Excuse me,” he said abruptly to the group around him, his voice cutting through their chatter. Without waiting for their response, he made his way toward me, weaving through the crowd with ease.

“You made it,” he said, stopping in front of me, his green eyes scanning me like he was committing every detail to memory.

“I did,” I replied, my voice light. “And you’re not exactly hard to find.”

“I try to be memorable,” he teased, though his grin softened into something warmer. He took a step back, his gaze lingering. “You look... wow.”

“Wow?” I raised an eyebrow, though my cheeks warmed under his scrutiny.

“Yeah, wow,” he said earnestly, as if the word itself wasn’t enough. “I almost didn’t recognize you.”

“Is that your way of saying I usually look terrible?” I joked, tilting my head.

“No,” he said quickly, shaking his head. “I mean—no. You always look great, but this is... different. Amazing.”

My cheeks flushed even more, and I let out a soft laugh, brushing a strand of hair behind my ear. “Thanks. You don’t look too bad yourself.”

“I clean up when I have to,” he replied, his grin widening.

We stood near the edge of the terrace, the noise of the party fading into the background. Franco didn’t seem to notice the occasional glances or murmurs from other guests. His focus was entirely on me, his posture relaxed yet intent.

“So, what’s the verdict on this party?” I asked, gesturing slightly to the scene around us.

“Not bad,” he said with a shrug. “But it just got better.”

I laughed softly, shaking my head. “You’re too much.”

Before he could reply, someone called his name from across the terrace. Franco turned briefly, offering a polite wave, but his attention snapped back to me almost instantly.

“Busy man,” I teased, my eyes sparkling.

“Not tonight,” he replied firmly.

But the interruptions kept coming. A Williams team member approached with a clipboard, another guest hovered nearby with a congratulatory drink in hand, and a photographer gestured for Franco to join a group photo. Each time, he handled it quickly, his attention darting back to me as soon as he could.

“Sorry,” he said after the third interruption, shaking his head. “That’s the last one. I swear.”

“Are you sure?” I asked, my tone teasing but understanding.

“Not really,” he admitted, his grin sheepish. “But I’d rather be here with you.”

My chest tightened at the sincerity in his tone, but before I could respond, another call of his name rang out. Franco sighed, glancing briefly toward the source.

“Want a drink?” he asked, his voice quieter now, almost intimate amidst the bustling terrace.

“Sure,” I said, nodding.

Franco led me to the bar, keeping close as we moved through the crowd. He ordered for both of us without hesitation, handing me a glass of sparkling water when I mentioned I wasn’t drinking.

“To today,” he said, raising his glass.

“To eighth place,” I replied, clinking mine lightly against his.

“And to making this the best part of the night,” he added, his grin softening as he looked at me over the rim of his glass.

As we lingered by the bar, the interruptions became harder to ignore. A sponsor insisted on pulling Franco into another photo, while a team member gestured impatiently for him to join a group near the balcony. He handled each one politely but quickly, his focus always returning to me.

“You know,” I said after a particularly persistent interruption, “you’re kind of in demand tonight.”

“Let them wait,” he replied, his voice steady.

“They don’t seem like the waiting type,” I teased.

“Too bad,” he said, his grin unwavering. “I’ve got better company.”

My heart skipped at the conviction in his tone, but before I could respond, yet another call of his name rang out. This time, Franco sighed audibly, shaking his head.

“I think that’s my cue,” he said, glancing back at me. “To suggest we sneak out.”

“Sneak out of your own party?” I repeated, my brow lifting slightly.

“Yeah,” he said, his grin returning. “Somewhere quieter. Just us.”

I hesitated, glancing around the bustling terrace. “Won’t people notice?”

“Maybe,” he said with a shrug. “But I don’t really care.”

The quiet certainty in his voice made me smile. “Alright. Let’s go.”

…

Franco led me toward a side exit at the edge of the terrace, his hand lightly brushing my back as we weaved through the thinning crowd. The rooftop celebrations carried on without a hitch, the laughter and clinking of glasses fading into the background as we slipped through the door.

“This way,” he said, holding the door open for me with a mischievous grin.

I stepped into a narrow stairwell, the dim emergency lights casting soft shadows on the walls. “We’re really doing this?”

“Of course,” Franco said, closing the door behind us. “What’s a celebration without a little adventure?”

I laughed softly, shaking my head. “This feels so dramatic. What, no rooftop helicopter getaway?”

“Next time,” he quipped, his grin widening as he started down the stairs.

The faint creak of the metal staircase echoed with each step, the quiet amplifying the flutter in my chest. By the time we reached the fire escape at ground level, the cool night air rushed in, refreshing and grounding.

“This is... a little ridiculous,” I said, glancing around at the empty alleyway we’d stepped into.

“Ridiculously fun,” Franco corrected, offering me his hand to help me down the last step.

I rolled my eyes but took it, his grip warm and steady. “Alright, what now?”

“Trust me,” he said, his green eyes glinting in the dim light. “I know the perfect spot.”

…

The city streets were quieter than I’d expected, the buzz of the race weekend giving way to a more subdued hum of nightlife. Franco walked beside me, his hands in his pockets, his pace unhurried.

“Any preferences?” he asked, tilting his head toward me.

I shrugged, smiling. “Surprise me.”

He led me down a narrow side street, the glow of streetlights reflecting off the cobblestones. We stopped in front of a small, cozy shop with large windows and shelves of colorful bottles displayed inside.

“This place,” Franco said, nodding toward the door. “Best snacks and drinks you’ll find this late.”

The warm scent of freshly fried food greeted us as we stepped inside. Franco approached the counter like a man on a mission, ordering two plates of dumplings and two bottles of Ramune without hesitation.

I watched as he expertly popped the marble stopper on one of the sodas, the sound crisp and satisfying. He handed it to me with a grin. “Here. Best part of the whole drink.”

“You make it sound like magic,” I said, laughing as I took the bottle.

“It kind of is,” he replied, popping the second bottle for himself.

We carried our food and drinks outside, settling on a low wall just across the street. The city lights sparkled in the distance, the occasional hum of a passing car filling the quiet.

I picked up a dumpling, steam curling from its surface. “You really know how to celebrate, huh?”

“Hey, who needs champagne when you’ve got gyoza and Ramune?” Franco said, holding up his bottle in a mock toast.

I laughed, clinking my bottle lightly against his. “Cheers to that.”

The quiet of the street wrapped around us, a comforting hum of distant city life providing a soft backdrop as we lingered outside the noodle shop. Our conversation had slowed, dipping into a comfortable silence as we finished our meal. Franco turned his soda bottle in his hand, the faint clink of the marble stopper breaking the stillness.

He glanced at me, his gaze lingering a little too long. When I met his eyes, there was something unspoken there—warmth, maybe, or a kind of vulnerability that caught me off guard.

“What?” I asked softly, tilting my head.

“Nothing,” he said, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. But then he hesitated, his fingers tightening around the bottle before he set it down beside him. “Actually... not nothing.”

My brow furrowed slightly as I waited, the weight of his pause pulling my attention fully to him.

“You ever feel like...” He trailed off, letting out a soft laugh, almost like he was laughing at himself. “Like you’re doing something incredible, something people would kill to do, but... it still feels like something’s missing?”

His words hit me with unexpected bluntness, the rawness in his tone making my chest tighten. I nodded slowly. “Yeah. I do. It’s like... you’re proud of it, but it’s not the whole picture. It’s not everything.”

“Exactly,” he said, his voice soft but insistent. “Don’t get me wrong, I love driving. It’s my dream, always has been. But...” He exhaled, his eyes dropping briefly before flicking back to mine. “It can be... lonely sometimes. You’re surrounded by people, always moving, but you don’t really get to... connect. Not like this.”

I blinked, caught off guard by the quiet sincerity in his words. “Like this?”

“Yeah,” he said simply, his gaze steady on mine. “This. Talking to someone who isn’t asking about lap times or tire strategy. Someone who actually listens. It’s... rare.”

My chest tightened at his words, and I shifted slightly, my fingers toying with the edge of my sleeve. “It’s not just you,” I admitted, my voice quiet but steady. “I think everyone feels that way sometimes. Like you’re doing something amazing, but... it’s still missing something.”

I hesitated for a moment, glancing down at the soda bottle in my hand. “I love working in F1. I really do. But... I miss my friends back home sometimes. Even though my colleagues are nice, it’s not the same. It’s hard to meet people you really connect with when you’re constantly on the move.”

Franco tilted his head slightly, his gaze softening. “Yeah. That’s it exactly.”

“I guess I never really expected to meet someone here...” I paused, searching for the right words. “...who it suddenly feels so easy with.”

He didn’t look away, his expression steady as if he understood exactly what I meant. “I get it,” he said softly. “More than you know.”

The air between us felt heavier now, thick with unspoken understanding. I met his eyes, and for a moment, the rest of the world seemed to fade away. There was something grounding in the way he looked at me, like he wasn’t just hearing me but seeing me completely.

…

When we reached the hotel, I slowed to a stop, turning to face Franco just outside the entrance. He mirrored me, his hands slipping from his pockets as he stood a little closer than before.

“Well,” I said, tilting my head slightly, “this is me.”

“So it is,” he replied, a small smile playing on his lips.

There was a beat of silence, the soft hum of the city filling the space between us. He looked at me, his green eyes studying my face like he was memorizing every detail.

“I wish I didn’t have to say goodnight,” he said quietly, his voice dropping to something softer, almost vulnerable.

My breath caught, the simplicity of his words hitting me harder than I expected. I opened my mouth to respond, but the look in his eyes—the way his usual teasing warmth had melted into something so unguarded—rendered me speechless.

“I mean it,” he continued, his lips twitching into a small, self-deprecating smile. “This... tonight... I don’t want it to end.”

My chest tightened, a warmth spreading through me that I couldn’t quite name. “Franco...”

“I know,” he said, cutting me off gently. His grin softened as he glanced down for a moment before meeting my gaze again. “It’s just... it’s been a while since I felt this way. Since someone made me feel this way.”

His words hung in the air between us, heavy and unfiltered. My cheeks flushed, my heart pounding as the distance between us suddenly felt too much. I took a small step closer, my voice barely above a whisper. “You don’t have to say goodnight just yet.”

The tension in the air thickened, the playful energy we’d carried through the evening now replaced by something deeper, heavier, and undeniable. Franco’s hand lifted slowly, his fingers brushing against my cheek as though he was afraid to break the moment. His touch was light, tentative, but the warmth of it sent a shiver down my spine.

He closed the remaining distance between us, his lips meeting mine in a kiss that was soft at first, careful, like he was savoring a moment he didn’t want to rush. The hesitation melted away almost instantly, replaced by something warmer, deeper.

His hand slid to the back of my neck, pulling me closer as his other hand rested lightly on my waist. The kiss deepened, unhurried but intense, a perfect balance of passion and tenderness. I could feel his heartbeat beneath my palms as my hands rested against his chest.

Franco tilted his head slightly, his lips moving against mine with a certainty that made my knees feel unsteady. Every movement felt deliberate, like he was pouring every unspoken word, every emotion he couldn’t quite articulate, into the kiss.

When we finally pulled apart, the world felt quieter, as though the night had paused just for us.

Franco’s thumb brushed against my cheek as he studied my face, his green eyes filled with something I couldn’t quite name but didn’t need to.

“See you at the next race?” he asked softly, his voice tinged with hope and certainty all at once.

“For sure,” I replied, my voice barely above a whisper but steady.

His lips curved into a slow, almost disbelieving smile, his hand lingering on my waist for a moment longer before he stepped back.

As I turned and stepped inside the hotel, my phone buzzed in my pocket. I glanced down, my cheeks still warm. A message from Franco lit up my screen:

You’ve completely ruined me, you know that? Best night ever.

I smiled to myself, my heart still racing as the elevator doors closed.

…

I groggily blinked awake, the sunlight peeking through the hotel curtains. My head felt heavy, and for a moment, I debated rolling over and falling right back asleep. But then my phone buzzed on the nightstand, the faint vibration pulling me from the haze of sleep. I reached over, squinting at the screen as I unlocked it.

Three missed calls. A text from Alicia, my colleague, stood out at the top of the notifications.

Why the hell are you on Franco Colapinto’s Instagram story eating dumplings with him on the pavement???

I frowned, propping myself up slightly against the headboard. What?

My thumb hovered over the message before tapping it, and an attached screenshot filled the screen. I blinked at it, then blinked again, sitting up straighter.

There it was, in all its glory: a grainy yet oddly endearing photo of Franco and me, still dressed from last night, sitting on the street outside the noodle shop. Plates of gyoza were scattered between us, the remnants of our late-night feast. My laughter was frozen mid-moment, one hand holding one of the little snacks while the other gestured animatedly. Franco was grinning at me, his green eyes glinting under the dim streetlights.

The caption read: Late-night dining, five stars.

I groaned, half in disbelief, half in embarrassment, as I clicked out of the screenshot and into Instagram itself. Sure enough, Franco’s story was still live. I stared at it for a moment, heat rising to my cheeks, before my phone buzzed again.

Another text from Alicia.

Is this what you do when you “stay late to lock up”? GIRL. DETAILS. NOW.

I let out a soft laugh, shaking my head as I set the phone down. The embarrassment I’d expected to feel never fully settled in. Instead, a warmth bloomed in my chest, the memory of last night—the dumplings, the laughter, the kiss—playing back in my mind.

I sat back against the pillows, staring at the sunlight filtering through the curtains. My phone buzzed again, but this time it wasn’t a notification or a frantic message from Alicia. It was Franco.

Hope you’re not mad about the dumpling photo. Just wanted to remember the best night I’ve had in a while.

I smiled, the warmth in my chest spreading as I typed out a reply.

Not mad. But you owe me breakfast for making me Instagram famous.

The three dots appeared almost instantly.

Deal. I’ll pick you up in 30.

I laughed softly, setting my phone down on the bedside table. Outside, the city was waking up, but for the first time in a long time, I didn’t feel like I was rushing to keep up with it. Instead, I let myself sink into the quiet, a lingering sense of joy wrapping around me like a blanket.

#f1 x reader #fc43 x reader #franco colapinto #franco colapinto x reader #franco colapinto imagine #franco colapinto fanfic #f1 fanfic #franco colapinto oneshot #franco colapinto x you

403 notes · View notes

unstable-samurai · 10 months ago

Text

ON REFLECTION

Naoi Rei x Male Reader

word count: 7K

The room's light struggles to reach the dark corners of the apartment as you sink into the couch, tired and a little lost. The TV is off, but the screen reflects distorted fragments of you and Rei, who sits in the opposite armchair. She’s sitting cross-legged, and the expression on her face is hard to decipher. The Hello Kitty pajamas don’t match the look she’s giving you. You've known Rei since high school, and now you've been roommates for two years, and in that time, you've seen every nuance of her emotions. But today, she seems different. She watches your fingers toy with the remote. Your head buzzing—maybe from lack of sleep, or perhaps the confusion that has become your life these past few days. Either way, the silence between you both grows heavy, and it eventually becomes unbearable.

"I'm leaving for a few days," you finally say, your voice low, dragging, almost as if you’re testing the words on your tongue before letting them go. "I need to get out of here, out of the city. Go to a friend’s place."

She doesn’t respond immediately. Instead, she runs a hand through her hair, playing with the ends as if pondering the best way to voice what’s on her mind.

"Let me guess: because of her, right?" Rei’s question is loaded with an implication you don’t want to face.

And then, she narrows her eyes... daring you to lie.

You take a deep breath, trying to gather your thoughts.

“What do you mean?"

Rei scoffs, the sound half a laugh, half frustration. "You're going to leave me here alone?" She leans forward slightly, her hands now resting on her lap. "Are you abandoning everything just because she left you?" Her tone is direct, like she’s poking at an open wound, but you know Rei never sugarcoats her words.

"Rei, you've been alone before," you respond, trying not to sound insensitive, but realizing you failed the moment the words leave your mouth. "I… I just can’t take this place anymore. This apartment, the memories…"

She raises an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced.

“The problem,” she starts, choosing her words carefully, “is that you’re going to throw away everything we planned. You’re leaving our plans behind because of that bitch.” The word comes out sharp. There’s no hesitation, no trace of guilt or regret.

"Rei, it's not that simple." You feel the need to justify yourself, to explain what you don’t fully understand. "I… I just need some time, you know? Space to think."

"Space to think?" She repeats, as if it’s a bad joke. "Think about what? About how she treated you like garbage? How she made you feel small every time you did something she didn’t like?" Her tone and gaze burn in a way that makes you flinch. "Or maybe you want to think about how she hated when we spent time together? How she made you choose between... her and me..."

You remain silent, the weight of her words crushing any response you might have had.

"Rei…" you try to start, but she cuts you off again.

“No! Now you're going to listen to me!”

She rises from the armchair, the pink pajamas swaying with the movement, and walks toward you with determined steps. “We planned to watch all the Halloween movies, remember? And it wasn’t my idea. I hate horror movies, but I was going to watch them because you wanted to. And now you’re telling me you’re not in the mood?” She stops in front of you, crossing her arms, her expression a mix of anger and hurt.

“Rei, it’s not about you, it’s about… everything.” The words seem insufficient, hollow, as if they can’t capture the chaos in your mind. “I just… need to get away for a while.”

She takes a deep breath, her hands now clenched into fists at her sides.

“You’re really blind, you know that?” she says, her voice softer now, almost a whisper. “I’ve been right here. I’ve always been here.”

You watch her, feeling a knot form in your stomach. “What do you mean by that?”

Rei doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, she lets her arms fall and, in a fluid motion, sits on your lap, so close you can feel the warmth of her body, her scent— that soft vanilla fragrance that always seems to follow her.

“I’m saying,” she begins, her hands now gently holding your face, “that you’ve never really seen me. Never noticed what I feel for you. And it seems that even now, you still don’t.”

You feel your heart race, as if you’re running a marathon without moving. “Rei, I…”

“Shh,” she interrupts, her finger touching your lips. “You don’t need to say anything. Just listen to me, okay?” She sighs. “I’ve always been here. Always. Since day one. I’ve taken care of you, helped you get back up every time she knocked you down. And I did it because… because I love you.”

The last word hangs in the air, heavy and inescapable. You feel like the ground has disappeared, like you’re falling endlessly into an abyss of uncertainties and emotions you didn’t know existed.

Rei continues, ignoring the shock on your face. “I know this might seem sudden, but… it’s not. I’ve always felt this way. I was just waiting for you to notice. But it seems you’re too blind for that.”

She leans in, your faces so close you can feel her breath against your lips. “I don’t want to be your friend, never did. I want to be more than that. I want you. And I’m not going to let you run away from me now, not after everything.”

Before you can respond, she kisses you. It’s not a gentle or hesitant kiss. It’s a kiss full of need, of desire, of years of repressed feelings finally released. And you kiss her back, because deep down, you know she’s right.

When the kiss finally ends, you both sit there in silence, just breathing, absorbing what just happened. Rei rests her forehead against yours, her eyes closed, more vulnerable than ever.

“Now do you see?”

You don’t answer. You don’t need to. Because for the first time in a long time, everything makes sense.

Memories come in waves, thick and suffocating like the warm air in the apartment that winter. It’s as if the memories from that week have been waiting for this moment to surface, forcing you to face what you’ve tried to hide for so long.

You remember when Rei got sick, a fever that seemed to burn through her, leaving her fragile and trembling. The flu came out of nowhere, turning her into a weakened version of herself, someone you almost didn’t recognize, except for the look she gave you, that spark that never completely faded, no matter how much her body was suffering.

You walked into the room that first night, the tray in your hands trembling slightly. Ginger tea with honey. Toast, because she couldn’t eat much more than that. She was curled up in a heap of blankets, the Hello Kitty pajamas that always made her seem childlike now seemed like a useless armor against the illness. You placed the tray on the bedside table and sat beside her, the mattress sinking under your weight.

“Hey, how are you feeling?” you asked, knowing the answer would be the same as always.

“Like I got hit by a truck,” she muttered, her voice raspy and trembling. She could barely keep her eyes open, but she forced herself to smile at you, because that’s what Rei did. Even when she was broken, she tried to make you feel better.

“Well, at least you’re still beautiful,” you said, trying to get a laugh out of her like you always did. You reached out to brush a strand of hair from her face, your touch soft, almost reverent.

She rolled her eyes, but the smile widened a bit. “Stop it. I look like crap and you know it.”

“No, seriously. You’re like… the sick version of Hello Kitty. The cutest, the prettiest.” You smiled, and she finally let out a weak laugh, a sound faint but full of life.

“You’re ridiculous,” she said, but there was tenderness in her voice.

During that week, daily routines became rituals between you two. Mornings were for medication and warm soups, afternoons for tea and old movies she couldn’t watch to the end without falling asleep. But the nights… the nights were different. They were the moments when everything seemed to slow down, and it was just you and Rei, together in the darkness, talking openly about anything, trying to forget she was sick, trying to make her feel normal.

“When you get better,” you said one night, as she lay on her side, looking at you with those big, tired eyes, “I’ll cook whatever you want. Anything.”

“Anything?” she asked, raising an eyebrow. Even sick, she couldn’t resist a challenge.

“Yeah. As long as it’s something I can make without burning down the kitchen,” you replied.

“Then I want… the best pasta you’ve ever made in your life,” she said, her lips curling into a smile.

“Pasta?” you repeated, as if she had just asked for something exotic.

“Yes, pasta. But it has to be special. I don’t know how, but I trust you to figure it out.” She looked at you with a confidence that made your heart ache. As if she knew you would do anything to see her smile again.

You remember how, that week, the apartment seemed to exist in its own universe. The world outside kept spinning, but in here, it was just you and Rei. You remember staying up late, listening to her breathing, holding her hot, feverish hand, waiting for the fever to finally break.

There was a moment, on one of the hardest nights, when you really thought she might get worse. The fever was high, and she was delirious, mumbling incoherent words. You held her hand, squeezing it tight, as if that could anchor her back to reality.

"Hey, I'm here," you said, your voice firm, trying not to let your anxiety spill over. "You're going to be okay. I promise."

She looked at you, her eyes filled with confusion and pain, and for the first time that week, you saw fear there. Not the fear of dying, but the fear of losing something, of losing you.

"Don't leave me," she whispered, and the vulnerability in her voice broke you in a way nothing else could.

"I'll never leave you," you replied, and in that moment, you realized how true that was.

These memories blend with the present as Rei sits on your lap, her eyes on yours, waiting for you to finally understand what she's trying to tell you. She has always been here, by your side, taking care of you, just as you took care of her. And now, with her so close, you finally understand what has always been right in front of you. The world around you seems to shrink until there's nothing left but the couch, the soft glow of the room, and the warmth of Rei's body on your lap. Time slows down, each second stretching to the point of almost breaking. Her breathing, light and steady, echoes in your ears like a persistent whisper, mixed with the sound of your own racing heartbeat. Your eyes meet, and you realize there's nowhere left to run.

Rei doesn't move. She doesn't try to force anything, just watches you, as if waiting for something. Maybe for an answer. Maybe for a sign that you've finally understood.

"What are you going to do now? Ignore this... or face it?"

There's a part of you that wants to retreat, but something stronger, something that pulls you forward. Unconsciously, your fingers move to her waist, finding the soft skin beneath the thin fabric of her pajamas.

Rei closes her eyes for a moment, as if absorbing the moment, and you feel her body relax under your touch. When she opens her eyes again, there's a sparkle there, something you've never seen before. "I love it when you touch me," she says, and there's a smile on her lips, a smile that is both a statement and a confession. "I've always loved it."

Your heart pounds in your chest, the reality of the moment finally starting to take root in you. But before you can process it, she continues, the words coming out fast, as if they've been held back for too long.

"And of course, she knew." Rei's voice is now harsher, carrying a brutal frankness. "Your ex-girlfriend, that bitch. She always knew. That's why she never liked me. Because she knew that at some point, I would take you from her. Because you were always mine, even when you didn't realize it."

You remember all the times your ex-girlfriend made passive-aggressive comments about Rei, the thinly veiled jabs, the looks of disdain. It all makes sense now, as if a piece of the puzzle has finally fallen into place. Rei leans in a little closer, her face now inches from yours. "She knew that deep down, you didn't want her. She knew you were with me the whole time, even when you were by her side. And she knew I was waiting for the right moment."

You try to say something, but the words get lost before they reach your mouth. All you can do is hold Rei a little tighter, feeling her warmth against your body, the sweet fragrance of vanilla lotion mixed with the scent of her hair.

"And now," Rei says, her voice soft, almost a whisper, "the choice is yours. I'm here. I've always been. The question is... will you finally accept my love? Or will you keep pretending you don't feel the same?"

You know there's no turning back. Not after this.

You lean in, your lips almost touching hers, and the decision has already been made before you even realize it. Because finally, you understand. All you need to do is allow yourself to feel.

"I never wanted her," you finally admit, your voice rough, as if the words had been trapped for too long. "I just didn't know that... I always wanted you."

Rei smiles, a smile that lights up the room, and before you can say anything else, she kisses you. And in that kiss, there are all the answers you've been looking for.

Because deep down, you always knew she was yours. And that you were hers.

When your lips part, you say, "Forgive my indecision, Rei."

She smiles.

"Already forgiven, silly."

So this is the moment of truth. Everything is falling apart around you, and the only thing left is this girl, Rei, looking at you with hungry eyes. She’s already made it clear that she wanted you, that she wants you. Always has. Your ex-girlfriend is just a detail now. And at this moment, it's as if every mistake, every wrong choice, was necessary to get here, with her, at the exact moment when the stars collide.

Rei is on your lap, where she’s always belonged. You kiss like you're drowning, each kiss a rescue from a lost past, and she keeps whispering between kisses, "Kiss me," "Kiss me more," as if it’s never enough, as if your lips still can’t reach what she really wants. The sound of her breath, heavy and fast, is like music, and all you want is to get lost in it, to drown in the innocence of this moment. And when you finally stop to breathe, that's when you really see her. There, so close, the adorable face, lips shining with saliva, dressed in that cute pajama that makes her look innocent. As if this were some kind of final test to see if you can resist what she’s become: the perfect girl.

"Make me yours," she asks, her voice a murmur between kisses. Every word carries a need that goes beyond the physical. It's as if she’s offering her soul, and you feel the weight of it, the gravity of this moment. It’s not just sex. It's so much more. It's mutual possession.

"You will be mine," you respond, and it’s a declaration of dominance, that you’ll have her in every way, that she will be yours and you hers, without reservations, without fear.

You feel your cock hardening, pressing against her. Rei notices, of course. She leans close to your ear, that warm breath against your skin, and confesses, whispers, with a malice that makes your blood boil, a malice that makes your heart race.

"I used to ride my pillow, imagining it was your cock." The image she paints in your mind is raw, almost cruel, because now all you want is to feel her fantasy become reality.

That’s all you needed to hear. She asks in a whining, almost childish voice if you’re going to fuck her, and you answer without any hesitation, "I will." The voice coming out of you isn’t just a reflection of arousal, it’s a promise. One you intend to fulfill with every fiber of your being.

You move to the bed, stumbling between laughter and kisses, the bodies colliding awkwardly but filled with a vital need. As you strip off your clothes, throwing everything to the floor like the world is ending, she looks at you with those eyes, almost asking for permission to be adorable. And there’s no way to resist that silent plea, that look that mixes innocence and lust in a perfect combination.

"Do you want me to keep this pajama on while you fuck me?" she asks, biting her lower lip. "Don't I look cute in it?" It's both a tease and a plea for you to want her even more. And it works.

You can only agree. "Very." The words come out almost as a moan, because at that moment, you know there’s nothing sexier than this mix of purity and perversion, this contrast that is Rei.

And then, without more words, she asks to see your cock. When you take off your underwear, the last barrier between you, her eyes widen, impressed.

"Wow..." She whispers with a mix of admiration and desire, as if she’s seeing something she’s dreamed of for so long finally become reality.

You sit on the bed and Rei kneels in front of you with the same devotion as someone kneeling for prayer. The entire room seems to shrink, every noise from the outside world suffocated by the sound of your quickened breath. She wraps her small hands around your cock, almost as if she’s holding something sacred, something she can’t rush. She drags her palm slowly along the length, exploring every vein, every contour, as if she’s trying to memorize every detail.

Her eyes are fixed on yours, a gaze that’s both sweet and wicked, an intoxicating mix that leaves you completely at her mercy. She smiles a wicked smile before tilting her head and brushing her face against your cock, as if familiarizing herself with the texture, the warmth, the weight. She’s in no hurry, and it drives you crazy. She knows what she’s doing, and you know she’s in control.

She starts with small kisses on the tip, soft, almost chaste, but each touch is charged with a sexual tension that makes you want to grab her hair and push her deeper. But you hold back. This is part of her game, and you don’t want to spoil it. She opens her mouth, letting the tip of her tongue slide slowly and provocatively along the slit at the head, her eyes never leaving yours. It's a deliberate act, one that makes every muscle in your body tense with desire.

She licks around the head of your cock, her tongue moving in lazy circles, spreading saliva until it's glistening and slippery. “I’ve always wondered what your cock feels like, always wanted to know what it tastes like…”

Rei slides her mouth down the length, taking you as deep as she can, and the warmth of her throat envelops you in a wet, pulsing grip. She holds you there for a moment, her eyes closed, savoring the feeling of having you so deep, so completely at her mercy. When she begins to move, it’s slow, dragging her lips along your cock while her hands come down to massage your balls, squeezing with just the right amount of pressure that pulls a low, husky moan from your throat.

She alternates between sucking and licking, her mouth wetting your entire length, creating a rhythm that is as erotic as it is torturous. She lets go of your cock for a second, only to lick your balls, one at a time, sucking them gently while her hand continues to slide up and down your erection.

“I want to hear you moan for me… Yeah, just like that… I love it when you moan like that…”

When she takes you into her mouth again, it’s with more pressure, like she’s hungry for more, like she needs to consume you entirely. The sound of her sucking is obscene, wet, the noise of saliva mixing with the sound of her heavy breathing. She sucks harder, the pressure increasing, each movement faster, more urgent. You can feel the heat building in the pit of your stomach, the pressure mounting as she continues, taking you deeper, moving faster.

“Fuck, Rei… you do that so well…” you manage to murmur, your voice fractured by pleasure. She responds with a muffled moan, a sound that vibrates around your cock and makes your whole body shudder. She speeds up, her gaze locked on yours, eyes gleaming with a mix of pleasure and challenge, as if she knows exactly what she’s doing to you and loves every second of it.

Finally, when she feels you’re on the brink of losing control, she slows down, releasing your cock from her mouth, but not before giving one last suck, hard enough to make your eyes roll back. She looks at you, her lips red and glistening with saliva, a thin string connecting the tip of her tongue to the head of your cock.

“I could do this all night… just to hear you moan more for me.”

She moans around your cock, the sounds vibrating through your body, each movement of her tongue sending waves of pleasure that make your muscles clench. “The taste of your cock is so, so good… way better than I imagined.” She whispers between sucks, looking at you with eyes so full of lust they seem ready to explode.

Rei stops, stands up, and you're still seated on the edge of the bed. Without breaking eye contact, she slides her hands down your chest, her nails lightly scratching the warm skin, before slowly turning around, her slender and delicate body moving with a grace unique to her.

Rei is facing away from you now, and you have the perfect view of the soft, provocative curves that drive you crazy. She positions one leg on either side of your thighs, and with one hand she pulls aside the thin fabric of her shorts, revealing the wet glisten of her pussy, while the other hand grips the base of your cock, guiding it with deliberate precision. She lowers herself slowly, the head of your cock brushing against her tight entrance, while a sigh escapes Rei's lips. She doesn’t rush; every inch is a small torture that makes you grip the bed sheets tightly, as if you need something to anchor you to reality.

When she finally sits on your cock completely, taking you all in, the sensation of being inside her, feeling the heat, the wetness, the pressure, is incredible. Rei begins to move slowly, rising and falling in a deliberate, calculated rhythm, each movement designed to give you agonizing pleasure, as if she’s relishing in testing your endurance. Her hands grip your knees for support, and with each roll of her hips, she tilts in a way that makes you sink even deeper into her, each thrust ripping a muffled groan from your lips.

“That’s it, Rei… slow… I want to feel every second…” you murmur, your voice hoarse, almost a desperate plea to prolong the torture.

She tilts her head back and lets out a low moan, filled with pleasure. “Your cock feels so good… it goes so deep in my tight little pussy…” Her words are like gasoline on the already burning fire inside you. The rhythm gradually increases, her movements become faster, more desperate, as if she’s surrendering completely to the desire that’s consuming both of you. The sound of your skin slapping against hers, the wet sound of her pussy sucking your cock, fills the room with a dirty and delicious melody. She keeps riding you, her moans turning into short screams of pleasure.

You feel the need to take control of the pace, so you grip Rei’s waist firmly and pull her up, making her lift off your cock with a frustrated moan. She turns to you, surprised, but you’re already standing, rising with clear intent. Before she can react, you pull her towards you, turning her to face the wall. Her breathing quickens as she feels your body pressed against hers, your throbbing cock against her skin, and she instinctively arches, pushing her ass out for you.

You position your cock at the entrance of her pussy again, wasting no time, and start fucking her standing up, thrusting hard, as if you want to mark every stroke. Rei lets out a sharp cry of surprise and pleasure, her hands bracing against the wall for balance as you fuck her. Your hips move in a furious rhythm, each thrust deeper than the last, each time faster, as if you’re determined to bury yourself as deep as possible inside her.

“Is this what you wanted, Rei? My cock fucking you like this? Tell me…” you whisper in her ear, nibbling on her earlobe.

“Yes! Fuck, I wanted you fucking my tight little pussy…” she responds between moans, her voice trembling with the force of each thrust. “Fuck me harder… I want to feel you all… deep inside me…”

You grab her breasts through the fabric, squeezing them firmly, feeling the delicious weight in your hands as you continue to fuck her hard. Rei’s moans turn into screams, she throws her head back, her hair sticking to her sweaty skin, her body arching as you keep pounding. The sensation of her pussy tightening around your cock, her internal muscles clenching in pure pleasure.

You pull her by the waist, feeling her tense muscles tremble under your grip, and guide her towards the bed. Rei quickly removes her shorts and gets on all fours, arching her back, showing off her dripping pussy, begging to be fucked. “Look at me… look at this pussy… it’s all yours… only yours… so fuck it, fuck it hard…” The sight alone is enough to make your head spin, your whole body screaming to take what’s yours.

Rei looks back over her shoulder, her eyes gleaming with a mix of lust and submission. “Fuck me… I need you… now,” she moans, her voice almost a whisper, but the plea is as clear as a shout.

You position your cock at her entrance, sliding slowly through her warm, pulsing opening before burying it deep in one single motion. She lets out a high-pitched moan, almost a scream, and the sound echoes through the room. Your hips start moving on instinct, your hands gripping her waist tightly, controlling each thrust, each push that drives her forward and then pulls her back for more.

“Just like that… harder… I want to feel every inch…” Rei begs, her voice broken by the moans that escape with each thrust. Her fingers dig into the sheets, her body arching with every movement, and you obey, increasing the force, the speed, until the sound of your skin slapping against hers fills the room. Her body responds to every thrust, her pussy squeezing even tighter around your cock, as if trying to keep you inside, as if she never wants to let you go.

You feel the moment approaching, the peak of pleasure that’s so close yet seems unreachable. With a hoarse groan, you grab her arms, pulling them back, pinning her under you as you continue to fuck. Rei completely surrenders, her moans turning into screams, her muscles tightening, her breath hitching as you drive her higher and higher until finally, she explodes in a powerful orgasm that makes her tremble beneath you. Her body convulses violently around your cock.

When she finally calms down, you lay her carefully on the bed. Rei looks at you with half-closed eyes, her lips parted in a smile that is both satisfied and hungry for more. You lie down beside her, but before you can relax, Rei is already moving again, climbing on top of you, sliding along your cock, swallowing you in one go, and begins to ride you with a slow, deliberate rhythm.

Her breasts bounce through the fabric with each movement, the skin of her thighs sweaty and glistening in the dim light of the room. Rei unbuttons her pajama top, and you can’t resist touching her breasts, squeezing them firmly, feeling the heat and weight in your hands. Rei tilts her head back, letting out a deep moan, almost a purr of pleasure, and you realize she's reveling in the control, in the sensation of completely owning you. "I'm going to come again... I need to come again..." she says, her eyes closed as she quickens the pace, each movement faster, more desperate.

You can feel her orgasm approaching, her pussy tightening even more around your cock, the heat and wetness increasing with each passing second. Her body moves with a frantic urgency, riding you with all her strength, as if she’s rushing towards a precipice, ready to throw herself into the abyss. And when she finally climaxes, Rei convulses on top of you, her body trembling, her muscles squeezing with an almost painful force, holding you inside her as she loses herself in pleasure.

It doesn't take long before you feel an intense heat building inside you, an unbearable pressure accumulating. Rei is still riding you, and she notices the change in you. She's moving slowly after her orgasm, her hips moving in a rhythm that teases you, rubbing her slick pussy against every inch of your cock, feeling the veins throb against her hot, wet flesh. Your eyes meet, and she smiles, a smile that mixes triumph and desire.

"You're going to come for me, aren't you?" Rei murmurs. "I want you to cover my face with your cum. I want to feel it dripping down my face, sliding into my mouth. Give me all your milk, baby."

Her words are a spark that ignites the last shred of self-control you had. In a swift movement, Rei dismounts you, kneeling beside the bed. She looks up at you, hunger in her eyes, as she firmly grips the base of your cock, her lips slowly parting, ready to devour you one last time. She slides the tip of your cock between her lips, sucking with a pressure that's both devastating and incredibly erotic, her eyes locked on yours as if daring you to hold on for just one more second.

But you can't. Not now. Her hands move with devilish skill, gliding up and down the length of your cock as her tongue desperately circles the head, licking, sucking, begging for you to drop your huge load on her.

"Come for me, baby," she whispers between sucks, her voice so full of lust that you almost explode right then and there. "Cover my face with your cum, please. I want it all, I want to feel you."

And then, just as you feel the climax explode inside you, Rei pulls your cock from her mouth, holding it inches from her face, her lips curled into a wicked smile. "That's it, come on my face, cover my face with your cum."

The first jet of cum hits her face with force, spreading across her nose and cheek, slowly dripping toward her lips. She closes her eyes, her smile widening as more jets follow, coating her skin. "That's it, baby... more... give me everything," she moans, feeling the cum drip from her eyelashes, slide down her chin, turning her face into a canvas of pure, dirty pleasure.

"Do it, mark me with your cum," Rei continues, running her fingers across her face to collect more of your cum and slowly licking them, savoring it like it’s her own addiction. "Fuck, I loved that... I loved everything, your taste, your smell, your touch, the way you make me feel so... so slutty."

Even after you've given everything, Rei still milks you with her hands, ensuring not a single drop is wasted. She licks her lips, tasting you, moaning softly as she savors every last drop. "Fuck, this is so warm, so good," she whispers, her voice drunk with pleasure, her eyes still closed as she basks in the sensation.

"Fuck… That was amazing, I loved every second, Rei," you say.

Finally, she opens her eyes and looks at you, a sweet smile on her lips. "From now on, our days will always be like this," she replies.

"I didn't know you could be so... perfect," you admit.

She gives an adorable little laugh as she responds, "You haven't seen anything yet."

—

That night was like any other. The bar, lit by neon lights that cast a bluish glow over everything, made the place seem like it was straight out of a dream. The loud music mingled with the bittersweet smell of beer and fried food. You were already on your third round of beers, maybe your fourth.

You leaned forward, elbows resting on the table, as the foam from the beer spilled over the sides of the glass you held with both hands. Beside you, Rei, always present, always reliable Rei, laughed at something one of your friends said, but the sound of her laughter felt more like a tapestry woven from nostalgia than a true response to whatever it was.

Your eyes wandered over her face. She was beautiful that night, more than usual.

"Hey, Rei," you called, half-whispering, but loud enough to be heard over the noise around you. She turned her face toward you, her brown eyes shining under the bar's light. "Have you ever noticed that... that I can talk to you about anything?"

She raised an eyebrow, curious. "Of course." Her response was simple, direct, and, in a way, exasperating. Sure, you were friends. But that wasn't what you meant, though the words weren't forming clearly in your mind.

"No, but..." You tried to think, tried to organize your muddled thoughts. "It's more than that. I can talk to you in a way I can't even with... with my girlfriend."

Her expression changed subtly, almost imperceptibly, but you noticed. She bit her lip, a gesture you'd seen before, whenever she was thinking about something she preferred not to say. "You've said that before," she replied softly, as if she were treading on dangerous ground.

"Have I?" You frowned, trying to remember, but your mind was fogged by the drink. "Ah... well, it must be because it's true."

Rei laughed, a short laugh, not very joyful.

"You're an idiot, you know that?" She shook her head, as if she were laughing at an inside joke. You were silent for a moment, trying to understand what she meant, but the alcohol wasn't helping.

"Maybe we have... a connection," you continued, stumbling over the words, "you know, like siblings."

Rei stopped laughing. The smile disappeared, and she looked at you with a seriousness that almost hurt. "It's not that," she said, her voice low, almost inaudible amid the noise around you. "It never was."

You blinked, confused. "It's not? Then... what is it?" You were genuinely puzzled. She had always been there, always by your side, always laughing at your jokes and listening to your rants. And you always thought that was true friendship, something solid and safe.

Rei sighed, and for a moment, you saw something in her eyes you'd never seen before — a kind of sadness mixed with resignation.

"It doesn't matter," she said finally, looking away, as if she could no longer bear to look at you. "Forget it."

You felt uncomfortable, as if you'd failed some test, but you didn't know what to say. Instead, you did what you always did when things got too complicated: you hugged her. It was an awkward, impulsive hug, but you felt her body relax against yours.

"I like you, Rei," you murmured, without thinking. The words slipped out before you could stop them, but it didn't feel wrong to say, "a lot." And suddenly, her arms were around your neck, and you realized, belatedly, how right that felt.

Rei smiled, a smile you couldn't quite interpret. "I like you a lot too."

And then, one of your friends called your name, something about another round of shots, and the moment dissolved. You were dragged back to the table, to the noise and chaos, and Rei sat there, watching as you walked away. When you looked back, she wasn't smiling anymore.

That night, you went home and collapsed into bed. And somehow, you forgot what happened. But Rei didn’t forget. For her, that moment was a line drawn in the sand, a line you had crossed without knowing. But she knew.

And that was what hurt the most.

—

The darkness in the room is thick, punctuated only by the faint glow of the desk lamp. Silence is never absolute, thanks to the soft sound of Rei’s breathing, a constant reminder that you’re no longer alone in this bed, or in any other aspect of your life.

Rei is nestled beside you, her tangled hair splayed across the pillow, a lazy smile stretching across her lips as she snuggles closer.

“We don’t have to sleep in separate rooms anymore, huh?” She lets out a little laugh, and you can sense her satisfaction in finally being able to say that.

You nod passively as the reality of what’s happened settles in your mind.

Rei turns her head to look at you, her eyes gleaming in the dim light. “Funny, isn’t it?” She begins, and you already know something is coming.

“What’s funny?” you ask, a part of you already knowing that the answer will make you feel like a complete fool.

She sighs, half exasperated, half amused, like she’s about to explain something obvious to a child.

“All those times I tried to get your attention… And you, completely blind.”

You turn to face her, trying to recall anything that might support what she’s saying. Her smile widens, mischievous and teasing.

“Remember that time I asked for a towel while I was in the shower? Just because I wanted you to take a peek?” She rolls her eyes and laughs. “But you? You just tossed the towel through the door and walked away.”

Your mind starts to sift through memories, moments that once seemed innocent, even mundane. You thought she was just forgetful, always leaving the towel behind. It never crossed your mind that it was intentional.

“And those short pajamas I used to wear?” Her voice had a tone of playful satisfaction. “I chose them just to see if you’d notice, if you’d at least look. And what did you do? You covered me with a blanket, worried that I might be cold.” She giggles, but you can feel the sarcasm dripping. “Cold? I wanted you to see me.”

You feel the blush rising up your neck, a mix of embarrassment and… something else. The images flood your mind: the short pajamas, the forgotten towels, and you never understood. You never realized what she was trying to tell you with those signals, and now you feel stupid.

“And when I used to jump on you out of nowhere?” She asks, laughing more vigorously. “Just to see if I could catch you off guard, make you react in some different way. And you? You’d just laugh and push me away.”

You try to speak, but the shame is almost suffocating. “I… I didn’t know,” you mumble, desperately trying to justify yourself. “I thought it was just… I don’t know, playful.”

Rei shakes her head, still smiling under a new layer of affection.

“You were so caught up in that… thing you called a relationship, that you never saw me as a real woman.”

“Rei, I…” you start, but she cuts you off, moving even closer until her nose touches yours.

“I did those things for you, you know? I turned down so many guys because of you, waiting for you to wake up.” She whispers, her voice a mix of sweetness and frustration.

“I’ll try to make it up to you… somehow. I’m sorry, Rei.”

She smiles again, but this time, it’s a different smile, a smile of victory, but also of understanding. She kisses you, a soft kiss, almost marking the end of a chapter that took too long to write.

“Idiot,” she murmurs against your lips, but the tone is affectionate. “You couldn’t have known. But now you do, and you’re not going to stay away from me anymore.”

Rei cuddles up to you, closing her eyes. And as sleep begins to pull you under, you can’t help but have one last thought, one last question: how could it have taken so long?

—

After the relationship finally solidifies, what was once just the ordinary coexistence of roommates, of best friends who share the trivialities of daily life, now transforms into something much deeper, much more intricate. Rei is no longer just the girl you split bills with and share occasional laughs, or the friend who was always there to listen to your complaints about life. She’s your girl now. And that changes everything.

The daily routine, which once seemed dull, now takes on new colors, new textures. The small details, those moments that would have gone unnoticed before, are now enveloped in a layer of raw, unfiltered intimacy. She greets you at home with an almost childlike eagerness, as if you were the sun and she, a plant hungry for light. Every time you walk through the door, there's a kiss, a hug, a heartfelt declaration of how much she missed you, even if it’s only been a few hours since you last saw each other. The way she looks at you... makes you feel like the only man on earth.

And things start heating up in ways you could never have anticipated. It’s a surprise, but one you embrace with every fiber of your being. Suddenly, she’s wearing costumes in bed, playing characters that range from a provocative nurse to a strict teacher. She dives into these roles with evident pleasure, having fun as she teases you, torturing you in ways you never imagined you’d enjoy so much.

Then there are the moments of complete spontaneity, the ones that turn any mundane situation into something memorable. Like that day in the supermarket parking lot, when she pulled you into the car, the engine still warm, the windows fogging up as she gave you a blowjob that wiped your mind clean, erasing any thought that wasn’t about her, about the moment. It’s clandestine, dirty in a way that only heightens the excitement, leaving you in a state of quiet euphoria as you tried not to moan her name right there in the backseat.

Morning sex becomes almost a sacred routine, the most intense and straightforward way to start the day. No words are needed, just the movement of bodies, the heat spreading, and the way she whispers in your ear. It’s primal, vital, as if without it, the rest of the day simply couldn’t happen.

You explore each other as if discovering yourselves for the first time. Every touch, every kiss, every sigh is a new discovery, a new layer of intimacy that you peel away together. You lose yourself in her, and she loses herself in you.

Every day is a new experience, and you let yourself go because, honestly, there’s nothing you want more than to be immersed in this whirlwind of sensations.

And Rei knows no limits when it comes to teasing you. Like that night when you went to a party with your friends. She seemed innocent, almost naive, in the floral dress that covered her down to her knees. But it was all a facade. During the party, she leaned in to whisper things in your ear, dirty things that made your whole body heat up. And in the middle of casual conversation with others, while everyone was distracted, her hand found yours, guiding it under the table to the part of her that was already wet with anticipation. She whispered for you to stay calm, not to give away what was happening, while she made you desperately wish the night would end soon.

Another time, during an innocent walk in the park, the sun shining, birds singing, the appearance of a perfect, harmless day. Rei, with that look like she wasn’t planning anything serious, led you to a more secluded spot, among the trees, away from curious eyes. "I was thinking," she began, with a gleam in her eyes that you’d learned to recognize, "I wonder if anyone’s ever done it here?" And before you could respond or even process what was happening, she was already on her knees in the grass, unbuttoning your pants.

There are also those moments when she surprises you in the middle of the night. You sleep deeply, your body exhausted from just another day, and are awakened by her soft touch, a caress that starts slow, exploring every inch of your skin, as if she wanted to memorize every detail. She has diabolical patience, letting the desire build inside you until you can no longer pretend to be asleep. And when you finally give in, when your eyes open and meet hers, she’s already watching you with a smile that promises the kind of pleasure that borders on sinful.

Another adventure she created was during a visit to your parents' house. You were there for a Sunday lunch, everyone was in the living room, talking and laughing. Rei, always cheerful and playful, behaved like the perfect girl to introduce to your family. But only you knew what was really going on. During lunch, she would gently rub her foot against your leg under the table, a constant tease that amused her.

"Hey, are you okay? You seem a bit... uncomfortable," she asked, feigning innocence, while her eyes said exactly what she was doing.

After lunch, she pulled you to a corner of the house where no one could see. "I think we need a bit of fresh air," she said, leading you to the garden. But instead of admiring the flowers, she pressed you against the brick wall of the house, her hands already unbuttoning your pants. “Let me ease your mind a little," she whispered before kneeling in the grass, and all you could do was hold onto the wall to keep from falling as she did things with her mouth that made you completely forget where you were.

You couldn’t be more satisfied to be the focus of all this seductive energy she has. And perhaps what surprises you most is how much it completes you. There’s no fear here, no doubts. Just the certainty that, finally, you’ve found what you were looking for. Someone who sees you, who cares about you, who shakes up your routine, who wants you, exactly as you are.

And that, yes, is the greatest achievement of all.

#kpop smut #male reader #male reader smut #rei smut #smut male reader #x male reader #x male smut #smut #gg smut #x male y/n #kpop angst #kpop gg #smut oneshot #rei ive #naoi rei #one shot #m!reader #ive smut

959 notes · View notes

bratzkoo · 9 months ago

Text

yours, always and forever | jeonghan

Author: bratzkoo | beta read by: @spnyin Pairing: perfumer! jeonghan x estrange wife! reader Genre: fluff, angst Rating: PG-15 Word count: 5.9k Warnings/note: went on a shopping trip with my mom and i cried when i smelled rose kabuki by dior. Happy National Boyfriend's Day to our boyfriend, Jeonghan.

summary: Perfumer Yoon Jeonghan took the Perfume industry by storm with his intriguing perfume names that seems to be inspired by one specific person which makes the industry question, who is he even naming his creations after? Only Y/N, Jeonghan’s estrange wife knows the answer.

taglist (hit me up if you wanna be added): @escoupseu , @yanabaaaaaaarysheva , @spnyin , @sousydive , @gyuguys , @gyubakeries

requests are open, but you can just say hi! | masterlist

The soft glow of the setting sun painted the New York skyline in hues of gold and pink, a stark contrast to the sleek, modern interior of the penthouse apartment where Yoon Jeonghan stood, gazing out at the city he'd conquered. In his hand, a delicate crystal glass held a swirl of amber liquid, its aroma mingling with the lingering scents that always clung to him—a symphony of olfactory notes that had become his signature.

Jeonghan took a sip of his drink, savoring the burn as it slid down his throat. His eyes, dark and intense, reflected the city lights beginning to twinkle in the twilight. At thirty-two, he was at the pinnacle of his career, a prodigy in the world of perfumery, and the toast of the fashion and beauty industries. For the third year in a row, the title of Perfumer of the Year sat comfortably on his shoulders, a crown he wore with a mixture of pride and nonchalance that only added to his allure.

The gentle ping of his phone drew his attention away from the view. Another congratulatory message, no doubt. They had been pouring in all day, ever since the announcement of his latest triumph. Jeonghan ignored it, choosing instead to walk over to his workspace—a sprawling, custom-designed lab that took up nearly half of his living area.

Here, amidst the orderly chaos of beakers, pipettes, and countless vials of essences and extracts, was where the magic happened. This was where he crafted the scents that had taken the world by storm, perfumes that didn't just smell divine but told stories, evoked memories, and stirred emotions in ways that left critics and consumers alike in awe.

Jeonghan's fingers trailed over the labels of his latest collection, a small smile playing on his lips as he read each name aloud:

"You, in the Garden."

"You, in Greece."

"You, in the Club Holding Your Favorite Drink."

"You, in New York."

Each name was a whisper of the past, a fragment of a story that the public could only guess at. And guess they did. Entire forums were dedicated to deciphering the meaning behind Jeonghan's enigmatic perfume names. Who was this mysterious 'you'? A lover? A muse? A figment of the perfumer's vivid imagination?

Speculation ran rampant. Some theorized it was a marketing ploy, a clever way to personalize each scent for the wearer. Others believed Jeonghan was leaving breadcrumbs, telling his own story through these olfactory chapters. The more romantic souls insisted it was an ode to a lost love, each perfume a memory crystallized in scent.

If only they knew.

Jeonghan's smile faded as he picked up the bottle of "You, in New York." The weight of it in his hand felt heavier than it should, laden with memories he both cherished and tried to forget. He uncapped it, bringing it to his nose and inhaling deeply.

Notes of crisp apple and bergamot gave way to a heart of rose and jasmine, grounded by a base of sandalwood and vanilla. But beneath these carefully orchestrated notes lay something else, something only he could detect—the ghost of her perfume, the one she wore on that last night.

Across the city, in a modest but charming brownstone in Brooklyn, Y/N sat cross-legged on her bed, surrounded by discarded wrapping paper and birthday cards. The celebration had been small but joyful, a gathering of the close friends who had become her support system over the past few years. As the night wound down and the last guest departed, she found herself alone with her thoughts and the pile of gifts yet to be properly examined.

One box in particular caught her eye. It was elegant, wrapped in matte black paper with a single silver ribbon. There was no card, no indication of who it was from. Curiosity piqued, Y/N carefully untied the ribbon and peeled back the paper.

Her breath caught in her throat as she revealed the contents. Nestled in a bed of black satin was a bottle she recognized all too well, even though she had never held it before. The clean lines of the glass, the minimalist label with its distinctive handwritten font—it was unmistakably one of Jeonghan's creations.

With trembling hands, Y/N lifted the bottle. "You, in New York," she read aloud, her voice barely above a whisper. A humorless laugh escaped her lips. How fitting, how cruelly ironic that of all his perfumes, this would be the one to find its way to her.

New York. The city where dreams came true and hearts were broken. The city where, five years ago, she had celebrated her last birthday with Jeonghan. It had been magical—a surprise weekend getaway, a whirlwind of Broadway shows, candlelit dinners, and long walks through Central Park. It was the last time she remembered feeling truly, incandescently happy.

It was also the weekend that marked the beginning of the end.

Y/N uncapped the bottle, hesitating for just a moment before bringing it to her nose. The scent hit her like a wave, transporting her instantly back to that weekend. She could almost feel the crisp autumn air on her skin, hear the bustling streets, see Jeonghan's smile as he pulled her close on top of the Empire State Building.

Unbidden, tears began to fall, leaving glistening trails down her cheeks. Five years. Five years since she had spoken to him, seen him, been in the same room as him. And yet, with one carefully crafted scent, he could still reach across that divide and touch her very soul.

They weren't divorced—the paperwork sat untouched in a drawer in her study, a task neither of them seemed able to bring themselves to complete. But they might as well have been strangers for all the communication that passed between them. Estranged was the word the media used when they bothered to mention her at all. Jeonghan's mysterious wife, who had disappeared from the public eye as swiftly and suddenly as Jeonghan had risen to fame.

Y/N set the bottle on her nightstand, unable to put it away but unwilling to hold it any longer. She reached for her phone, scrolling through the countless birthday messages until she found the one she was looking for. It was from her best friend, Mina:

"Hey birthday girl! Hope you loved all your gifts. That last one... the perfume. I hope it wasn't too much. When I saw it, I just thought... well, maybe it was time. You can't run from the past forever, Y/N. Call me if you need to talk. Love you!"

So it had been Mina. Y/N wasn't sure whether to thank her friend or curse her for this unexpected trip down memory lane. She fell back onto her pillows, staring at the ceiling as her mind raced.

Did Jeonghan know his perfume had found its way to her? Did he still think of her when he created these scents? Was she the 'you' in every bottle, or had someone else taken her place in his heart and his art?

Questions she had buried for years bubbled to the surface, demanding attention. Y/N closed her eyes, willing sleep to come and provide a temporary escape. But the scent of "You, in New York" lingered in the air, a persistent reminder of all that had been and all that was lost.

Meanwhile, in his penthouse, Jeonghan had moved from his lab to his home office. The wall opposite his desk was covered in framed magazine covers and articles, a testament to his meteoric rise in the industry. His eyes, however, were fixed on a single frame tucked away in the corner of his desk. It was turned face down, but he knew every detail of the photograph it held—him and Y/N, laughing and in love, on their wedding day.

He reached for it, hesitating for a moment before picking it up and turning it over. They looked so young, so full of hope and dreams. Jeonghan traced the outline of Y/N's face with his finger, wondering not for the first time where she was, what she was doing, if she ever thought of him.

A notification on his computer screen drew his attention. It was an email from his publicist, marked urgent:

"Jeonghan,

The press is buzzing about your win and the launch of 'You, in New York.' Vogue wants an exclusive interview, and they're particularly interested in the inspiration behind your perfume names. I've held them off so far, but we need to give them something. The mysterious artist angle only works for so long.

Also, there's been some renewed interest in your personal life. A few gossip blogs have dug up old photos of you and Y/N. Nothing scandalous, but we should be prepared for questions.

Let me know how you want to handle this.

- Somin"

Jeonghan leaned back in his chair, a frown creasing his brow. He had known this day would come eventually. The perfume industry thrived on stories, on the personalities behind the scents. He had managed to maintain an air of mystery for years, letting his creations speak for themselves. But now, with his continued success and the increasingly personal nature of his perfume names, the world wanted more.

How could he possibly explain the truth? That each perfume was a love letter, a memory, a piece of his heart poured into a bottle? That 'You, in the Garden' was born from lazy Sunday mornings spent in their tiny apartment's rooftop garden, Y/N's laughter mingling with the scent of herbs and flowers? That 'You, in Greece' captured the essence of their honeymoon, sun-kissed skin and salty air and the intoxicating feeling of being young and in love?

And 'You, in New York'... Jeonghan's gaze drifted back to the photograph. Their last happy moment, preserved in glass and scent. He had poured every ounce of his skill into that perfume, trying to capture not just the smells of the city, but the feeling of that weekend—the joy, the love, and the bittersweet edge of what was to come.

He picked up his phone, thumb hovering over Y/N's contact. He hadn't deleted it, couldn't bring himself to erase that last tangible connection. But he hadn't used it either, not in five long years. What would he even say?

"I'm sorry"?

"I miss you"?

"Every scent I create is a desperate attempt to hold onto the memory of us"?

Jeonghan set the phone down, leaving the call unmade. Instead, he turned back to his computer and began to type a response to his publicist:

"Somin,

Set up the Vogue interview. I'll give them the story they want.

As for my personal life, it remains personal. No comments on old photos or relationships.

- Jeonghan"

He hit send before he could second-guess himself. It was time to give the public a peek behind the curtain, to feed the curiosity that had been building for years. He would craft a story, something romantic and mysterious enough to satisfy the masses without revealing the raw, painful truth.

After all, isn't that what he did best? Create beautiful illusions, capture feelings in a bottle, tell stories through scent? This would just be another performance, another carefully constructed facade.

But as Jeonghan stood to pour himself another drink, his eyes fell once more on the photograph of him and Y/N. For a moment, the mask slipped, and a look of profound sadness crossed his face. All the success, all the accolades, all the adoration from fans around the world—none of it filled the Y/N-shaped hole in his heart.

In the quiet of his luxurious apartment, surrounded by the fruits of his success, Yoon Jeonghan—three-time Perfumer of the Year, creator of the most sought-after fragrances in the world—had never felt more alone.

As the night deepened, two souls on opposite sides of the city lay awake, each haunted by memories and might-have-beens. The scent of "You, in New York" lingered in the air, a fragrant bridge across the chasm that separated them. Neither knew that this birthday, this perfume, this moment of remembrance, was about to set in motion a chain of events that would force them to confront their past and decide their future.

The sleek, modernist interior of Vogue's New York office buzzed with nervous energy as staff scurried about, making last-minute preparations. Today was no ordinary day—they were about to interview Yoon Jeonghan, the enigmatic perfumer who had captivated the fashion world with his mysterious creations.

Jeonghan sat in the makeup chair, his eyes closed as the artist applied a light touch of powder to his already flawless skin. He exuded an aura of calm, but beneath the surface, his mind raced. This interview was a calculated risk, a chance to satisfy the public's curiosity while maintaining the mystique that had become his trademark.

"Mr. Yoon, we're ready for you," a young assistant called, clipboard clutched to her chest.

Jeonghan opened his eyes, meeting his reflection in the mirror. He adjusted his tie—a deep, midnight blue that brought out the intensity of his gaze—and stood. With a deep breath, he stepped into the lion's den.

The interviewer, a sharp-eyed woman named Clara, greeted him with a professional smile. "Mr. Yoon, thank you for joining us. Shall we begin?"

As the cameras rolled, Clara launched into her questions, starting with the safe and expected before gradually probing deeper.

"Your latest fragrance, 'You, in New York,' has taken the world by storm," Clara said, leaning forward slightly. "Can you tell us about the inspiration behind it?"

Jeonghan's lips curved into a small smile, one that didn't quite reach his eyes. "New York is a city of dreams and memories," he began, his voice smooth and measured. "I wanted to capture the essence of a perfect moment in time—the crisp air of a fall evening, the excitement of possibility, the bittersweet beauty of a fleeting experience."

"And the 'you' in the title?" Clara pressed. "Your fragrances all seem to be addressing someone specific. Is there a story there?"

For a fraction of a second, Jeonghan's composure slipped. A flicker of something—pain? longing?—crossed his face before the mask slid back into place. "The 'you' is everyone and no one," he said carefully. "It's the wearer of the perfume, the object of desire, the memory of a love lost or yet to be found. I believe that the most personal stories are often the most universal."

As the interview continued, Jeonghan wove a tale of inspiration drawn from travels, fleeting encounters, and imagined romances. It was a beautiful story, crafted as carefully as his perfumes. But those who knew him best might have noticed the slight tension in his shoulders, the way his fingers occasionally twitched as if reaching for something—or someone—just out of grasp.

---

The publication of the Vogue interview sent shockwaves through the fashion and beauty world. Social media exploded with theories and interpretations of Jeonghan's words. Fan forums dissected every sentence, looking for hidden meanings and clues about the mysterious muse behind his creations.

@ScentObsessed tweeted: "OMG, did you catch how his voice changed when talking about 'You, in New York'? There's definitely a real story there! #YoonJeonghan #PerfumeMystery"

A popular beauty vlogger released a 20-minute video analyzing Jeonghan's body language during the interview, claiming to have spotted at least five instances where he seemed to be holding back tears.

Even serious fashion critics couldn't resist speculating. A piece in WWD posed the question: "Is Yoon Jeonghan's entire oeuvre an olfactory autobiography? The clues hidden in his fragrances."

---

Across the city, Y/N sat at her kitchen table, a cup of coffee growing cold beside her as she stared at her laptop screen. The Vogue article was open, Jeonghan's face looking back at her from a series of artfully shot photographs.

She had promised herself she wouldn't read it. Had sworn she was past all this, that she had moved on. But curiosity—and perhaps something deeper, something she wasn't ready to name—had gotten the better of her.

Now, as she read his carefully crafted words, Y/N felt a complex mix of emotions churning inside her. Anger at the half-truths, sadness at the memories his words evoked, and a traitorous flutter of her heart at the moments where she could see through his facade to the man she once knew so well.

A knock at the door startled her out of her reverie. Y/N closed the laptop quickly, as if hiding evidence of a crime, before going to answer.

"Ms. Y/N?" A woman with a press badge stood in the hallway, notepad in hand. "I'm Mia from Style Weekly. I was hoping I could ask you a few questions about Yoon Jeonghan's latest interview."

Y/N felt the blood drain from her face. "I'm sorry, I don't know what you're talking about," she said, moving to close the door.

The reporter's foot blocked the doorway. "Please, just a moment. Your connection to Mr. Yoon is a matter of public record. Surely you must have some insight into the inspirations behind his work?"

"No comment," Y/N managed, her voice strangled. She pushed the door closed with more force, hearing the reporter's muffled protests from the other side.

Leaning against the door, Y/N slid to the floor, her heart pounding. It was happening again. The life she had carefully rebuilt, separate from Jeonghan and his world of glitz and glamour, was threatening to crumble around her.

---

In his penthouse, Jeonghan paced back and forth, phone pressed to his ear. "Somin, I thought we agreed to keep my personal life out of this," he said, frustration evident in his voice.

His publicist's calm tones came through the speaker. "Jeonghan, we did our best, but you have to understand. The public is hungry for this. Your story, the mystery—it's what sells. The interview was a huge success."

"At what cost?" Jeonghan muttered, more to himself than to Somin.

After ending the call, he walked to his workspace, surrounded by the tools of his trade. His fingers trailed over the bottles of his creations, lingering on "You, in New York."

For a moment, he allowed himself to remember—truly remember, not the sanitized version he had presented to the world. He saw Y/N's smile as they watched the sunset from the Top of the Rock, felt the warmth of her hand in his as they strolled through Central Park.

Almost without conscious thought, his hand reached for his phone. Y/N's contact information stared back at him, unchanged after all these years. His thumb hovered over the call button.

A war raged inside him. The desire to hear her voice, to explain, to apologize, warred with the fear of rejection, of reopening old wounds.

In the end, he set the phone down, the call unmade. But the desire, the need, lingered.

---

"Y/N, have you seen this?" Mina's voice came through the phone, excitement evident. "Jeonghan's Vogue interview. Girl, he's talking about you."

Y/N sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Mina, please. You know I don't want to hear about—"

"No, listen," Mina interrupted. "He talks about a moment in New York, watching the sunset from a rooftop garden. That was you two, wasn't it? On your last birthday together?"

Y/N's breath caught. She remembered that evening with painful clarity—the golden light, the gentle breeze, the feeling that everything was perfect. It was mere days before it all fell apart.

"It doesn't matter," Y/N said, but her voice lacked conviction.

"Honey," Mina said gently, "I think it does. He's been telling your story all along, in every bottle. Maybe... maybe it's time to tell yours."

After hanging up, Y/N found herself once again staring at the bottle of "You, in New York." She uncapped it, letting the scent envelop her. In that moment, she allowed herself to truly feel everything she had been suppressing for years.

The realization hit her like a wave: Jeonghan hadn't forgotten. Every perfume, every story, was a message in a bottle, cast out into the world in hopes that someday, somehow, it would reach her.

---

The charity gala was in full swing, the cream of New York society mingling amidst the glittering decor of the Metropolitan Museum of Art. Jeonghan moved through the crowd, shaking hands and exchanging pleasantries, the perfect image of the successful artist.

He was in the middle of a conversation with a fashion designer when he felt a tap on his shoulder. Turning, he found himself face to face with an old friend—one he shared with Y/N.

"Jeonghan," the friend said, a strange mix of emotions playing across their face. "It's been too long."

As they talked, catching up on the years that had passed, Jeonghan found himself hungry for any scrap of information about Y/N. He tried to be subtle, but his old friend saw right through him.

"She's doing well, Jeonghan," they said softly. "She's strong. But... I think she misses you too."

The words hit Jeonghan like a physical blow. He excused himself, making his way to a quiet corner of the museum. His carefully constructed world felt like it was shifting beneath his feet.

Across the city, Y/N was experiencing a similar upheaval. A mutual friend had let slip that Jeonghan had asked about her, that he still kept a photo of them on his desk.

As the night wore on, both Jeonghan and Y/N found themselves standing at a crossroads. The walls they had built, the distance they had maintained, suddenly seemed more like obstacles than protection.

Unbeknownst to each other, they both reached for their phones at nearly the same moment. Fingers hovering over screens, hearts pounding, they stood on the precipice of a decision that could change everything.

In the air, the faint scent of "You, in New York" lingered, a reminder of what was lost and what, perhaps, could still be found.

The stage was set. The next move was theirs.

The Autumn chill nipped at Y/N's skin as she stood outside the small café, her hands shoved deep into her coat pockets. Her eyes darted nervously up and down the street, searching for a familiar face she hadn't seen in years. Her heart raced, a mix of anticipation and fear coursing through her veins.

She almost jumped when her phone buzzed. A text from Jeonghan: "I'm here."

Y/N's breath caught in her throat as she spotted him rounding the corner. Jeonghan looked much the same as she remembered, yet somehow different. His hair was styled differently, and he carried himself with a weariness that hadn't been there before. But his eyes—those eyes that had once looked at her with such love—were as intense as ever.

Their gazes locked, and for a moment, the busy New York street faded away. It was just the two of them, standing on opposite sides of a chasm five years in the making.

Jeonghan reached her first, stopping a few feet away. "Y/N," he said, his voice a mix of relief and uncertainty.

"Jeonghan," she replied, surprised at how steady her own voice sounded.

An awkward silence fell between them, years of unspoken words and suppressed emotions creating an almost tangible barrier.

"Should we..." Jeonghan gestured towards the café, and Y/N nodded, grateful for the suggestion.

Inside, they found a quiet corner booth. The warm, coffee-scented air was a stark contrast to the tension between them. They ordered—an Americano for him, a latte for her, just like old times—and then faced each other across the small table.

"You look well," Jeonghan said, his fingers fidgeting with a sugar packet.

Y/N managed a small smile. "So do you. I... I've seen your interviews. Congratulations on all your success."

Jeonghan's face tightened almost imperceptibly. "Thank you. I hear you're doing well too. Teaching, right?"

She nodded. "Yeah, literature at NYU. It's... it's good."

Another silence fell, heavier this time. Y/N took a sip of her latte, using the moment to gather her thoughts.

"Why did you want to meet, Jeonghan?" she finally asked, setting her cup down perhaps a bit too forcefully.

Jeonghan looked up, meeting her gaze directly for the first time since they sat down. "I... I missed you, Y/N. Every day for five years, I've missed you."

The raw honesty in his voice caught Y/N off guard. She felt tears pricking at the corners of her eyes and blinked them back furiously.

"You missed me?" she repeated, a hint of bitterness creeping into her tone. "You're the one who left, Jeonghan. You chose your career over us."

Jeonghan flinched as if he'd been slapped. "I know," he said softly. "And I've regretted it every day since."

He reached into his jacket and pulled out a small, familiar bottle. Y/N's breath hitched as she recognized it—"You, in New York."

"Every scent, every name," Jeonghan continued, his voice thick with emotion, "they were all for you. About you. My way of holding onto what we had, what I threw away."

Y/N stared at the bottle, memories flooding back. The laughter, the love, the pain—it all came rushing back in a dizzying whirl.

"I thought I was protecting you," Jeonghan said. "The pressure, the spotlight—it was destroying us. I thought... I thought if I let you go, you could have a normal life. Be happy."

"That wasn't your choice to make," Y/N said, her voice barely above a whisper. "You should have talked to me. We could have figured it out together."

Jeonghan nodded, running a hand through his hair in a gesture so familiar it made Y/N's heart ache. "I know that now. God, Y/N, I know. I was young and stupid and scared. I thought I was doing the right thing, but I was just a coward."

Y/N felt the walls she'd built around her heart begin to crumble. She reached out, almost unconsciously, and took the perfume bottle from Jeonghan's hand. As she did, their fingers brushed, sending a jolt of electricity through both of them.

"I tried to hate you," Y/N admitted, her thumb tracing the label of the bottle. "I tried so hard to forget, to move on. But then I'd catch a whiff of one of your perfumes, or see your face on a magazine cover, and it all came flooding back."

Jeonghan leaned forward, his eyes pleading. "I know I have no right to ask this, but... is there any chance? For us? I'm not the same man I was five years ago. I've learned, I've grown. And I know now that nothing—no amount of success or fame—means anything without you."

Y/N closed her eyes, feeling tears slip down her cheeks. When she opened them again, she saw that Jeonghan's eyes were also wet.

"I don't know," she said honestly. "You hurt me, Jeonghan. Deeply. That's not something that can be fixed with a conversation and some pretty words."

Jeonghan nodded, his face falling. But before he could speak, Y/N continued.

"But... I'd be lying if I said I didn't miss you too. That I didn't still love you, despite everything."

Hope bloomed in Jeonghan's eyes. "So... what does that mean?"

Y/N took a deep breath. "It means... it means maybe we can try. Slowly. No grand gestures, no rushing back into things. We need to relearn each other, rebuild trust. Can you do that?"

Jeonghan reached across the table, gently taking Y/N's hand in his. The familiar warmth of his touch sent a shiver down her spine.

"Y/N, I would wait a lifetime if that's what it took. We'll go as slow as you need. I just... I just want a chance to make things right."

For the first time since they sat down, Y/N felt a genuine smile tugging at her lips. "Okay," she said softly. "Let's try."

The gentle spring breeze carried the scent of cherry blossoms through Central Park, where Jeonghan and Y/N walked hand in hand, their steps slow and purposeful. Two years had passed since that fateful night when they both reached for their phones, finally bridging the gap that had separated them for so long.

"I still can't believe we're here," Y/N said, squeezing Jeonghan's hand. "Sometimes I think I'll wake up and find it was all a dream."

Jeonghan brought her hand to his lips, placing a soft kiss on her knuckles. "If it's a dream, then I never want to wake up," he replied, his eyes shining with emotion.

They found a quiet bench overlooking the lake, the same spot where they had sat years ago, planning their future together. Now, older and wiser, they sat again, the weight of their shared history and renewed love settling comfortably between them.

"The launch is tomorrow," Jeonghan said, a hint of nervousness in his voice. "Are you ready?"

Y/N took a deep breath, nodding. "As ready as I'll ever be. It's still surreal, you know? Being back in this world, but on my own terms this time."

The past two years had been a whirlwind of rediscovery and healing. After their reconnection, Jeonghan and Y/N had taken things slowly, rebuilding trust and relearning each other. Y/N had been adamant about maintaining her independence, refusing to be swallowed up by Jeonghan's world as she had been before.

To everyone's surprise—including her own—Y/N had discovered a talent for perfumery. What had started as curious questions about Jeonghan's process had evolved into a genuine passion. Under his guidance, she had begun to create her own scents, her natural intuition complementing Jeonghan's technical expertise.

And now, tomorrow, they would launch their first collaborative perfume.

"I have something for you," Jeonghan said, reaching into his jacket pocket. He pulled out a small, elegant bottle, its contents shimmering in the afternoon sun.

Y/N gasped, recognizing the prototype they had been working on. "Is this...?"

Jeonghan nodded, a smile playing on his lips. "The final version. I wanted you to be the first to see it—to smell it."

With trembling hands, Y/N took the bottle. The label read "Essence of Us" in Jeonghan's distinctive handwriting. Below it, in smaller letters: "By Jeonghan & Y/N."

She uncapped the bottle, bringing it to her nose. The scent enveloped her immediately—bright citrus notes of bergamot and lemon, giving way to a heart of rose and jasmine, grounded by warm sandalwood and a hint of vanilla. But there was something more, something uniquely them—a note that spoke of long nights of conversation, of laughter shared over coffee, of gentle kisses and whispered promises.

Tears welled up in Y/N's eyes. "It's perfect," she whispered.

Jeonghan wrapped an arm around her, pulling her close. "It's us," he said simply. "All of us. The good, the bad, the journey we've taken."

As the sun began to set, painting the sky in hues of pink and gold, Jeonghan and Y/N sat in comfortable silence, the scent of their creation lingering in the air around them.

The launch event for "Essence of Us" was the talk of the fashion world. Held in the same New York hotel where Jeonghan and Y/N had celebrated her last birthday before their separation, it was a poignant reminder of how far they had come.

Cameras flashed as Jeonghan and Y/N stepped onto the red carpet, a united front. Y/N, dressed in a flowing gown that shimmered like liquid silver, looked every inch the confident co-creator, a far cry from the woman who had once hidden in Jeonghan's shadow.

Inside, the room was transformed into a sensory wonderland. Different stations represented the various notes of the perfume, allowing guests to experience each element individually before sampling the final product.

As the crowd mingled and the excitement built, Jeonghan clinked a glass, calling for attention. The room fell silent, all eyes turning to the stage where he and Y/N stood.

"Thank you all for being here tonight," Jeonghan began, his voice carrying easily through the room. "This launch is special for many reasons, but none more so than the fact that it represents not just a new scent, but a new chapter."

He turned to Y/N, love evident in his gaze. "For years, my perfumes told the story of what I had lost. They were messages in bottles, cast out into the world in the hope that someday, they might find their way back to the one who inspired them."

Y/N stepped forward, taking Jeonghan's hand. "And I heard those messages," she continued, her voice strong and clear. "Even when I tried not to listen, even when I thought that chapter of my life was closed forever. They called to me, reminding me of a love that never truly faded."

Together, they unveiled the perfume—an elegant bottle that seemed to capture the light, refracting it into a thousand tiny rainbows.

"'Essence of Us' is more than just a perfume," Jeonghan said. "It's a testament to the power of love, of forgiveness, of second chances. It's the scent of two people who lost their way, only to find that all paths led back to each other."

Y/N nodded, adding, "It's also a new beginning. A declaration that our story isn't just about the past, but about the future we choose to create together."

As the crowd applauded and the first samples of "Essence of Us" were distributed, Jeonghan and Y/N shared a private smile. They had poured their hearts into this creation, distilling years of love, loss, and rediscovery into a single, perfect scent.

Months later, as "Essence of Us" continued to top bestseller lists and garner critical acclaim, Jeonghan and Y/N found themselves back in their favorite spot in Central Park. The trees were ablaze with autumn colors, a crisp breeze carrying the promise of winter.

"I've been thinking," Jeonghan said, his tone casual but his eyes betraying a hint of nervousness. "About the future. About us."

Y/N looked at him curiously. "Oh? And what have you been thinking?"

Jeonghan took a deep breath, reaching into his pocket. "I've been thinking that maybe it's time for a new scent. Something... permanent."

He pulled out a small velvet box, opening it to reveal a stunning ring. The design was unique—a delicate gold band that twisted into the shape of an infinity symbol, set with tiny diamonds that caught the light like drops of perfume.

"Y/N," Jeonghan said, his voice thick with emotion, "will you marry me? Again? For real this time, for always?"

Tears sprang to Y/N's eyes as she nodded, too overwhelmed to speak. As Jeonghan slipped the ring onto her finger, she finally found her voice. "Yes," she whispered. "Forever and always."

They sealed the promise with a kiss, the scent of "Essence of Us" mingling with the crisp autumn air. As they broke apart, both laughing and crying, Jeonghan's eyes lit up with that familiar spark of inspiration.

"I think I know what our next perfume will be called," he said, grinning.

Y/N raised an eyebrow, a smile playing on her lips. "Oh? Do tell."

Jeonghan pulled her close, whispering in her ear: "You, Forever and Always."

And as they walked hand in hand through the park, already discussing notes and accords for their new creation, both Jeonghan and Y/N knew that this—their love, their passion, their shared creativity—was the most intoxicating scent of all.

404 notes · View notes

dakusan · 3 months ago

Text

How skz use emojis (with tier rankings)

stray kids ot8 x reader | humor, chaos, soft delulu

🌙 synopsis: some of them are emotionally stable. some of them use emojis like they’re decoding ancient scripts. this is how skz would text you—via emoji abuse, unhinged chains, and the occasional soft heart. ranked. judged. exposed.

💌 a/n: you ever get a message from someone and it’s just 6 emojis in a row and now you’re spiralling? yeah. that’s what this is. from curated ✨ aesthetics to 🧍‍♂️ level nonsense—i studied them like a scientist. they all have different love languages. most of them are unhinged. p.s. if you’ve ever said “he texts just like han” i’m sorry for your loss p.p.s. reblog before you catch feelings over a cat emoji

📍credits: @cafekitsune for the divider

🎶 Now Playing: "Super Shy" — New Jeans

Tier system:

S-Tier: dangerously iconic. elite use of emojis.

A-Tier: knows what they’re doing. emotionally stable… for now.

B-Tier: inconsistent but charming.

C-Tier: concerning choices.

F-Tier: chaos. emotional terrorism.

Bang Chan // 방찬 emoji usage tier: A-Tier he knows what he’s doing. most of the time. go-to emojis: 😭 ☠️ ❤️ 🤷‍♂️ how he uses them:

uses 😭 for literally everything. laughing? crying? annoyed? it’s always 😭

dramatic boy energy with the skull ☠️, usually after you roast him

says something incredibly vulnerable and follows it up with “lol ❤️” to soften the blow

overthinks emoji tone so ends up sending 3 different ones just in case

example messages:

“i swear if you ghost me 😭😭😭” “i wrote a song and accidentally made it about u lol ❤️“ “u make me feel things ☠️ unfollow” ”did u eat?? answer wisely ☠️❤️”

Lee Know // 리노 emoji usage tier: C-Tier only uses emojis when he’s trying to be annoying or dangerously flirty go-to emojis: 🐱 👍 😐 🙃 how he uses them:

thumbs up 👍 is his passive-aggressive specialty. it’s his period at the end of a sentence

randomly sends 🐱 when he’s pretending to be cute (it’s working)

uses 😐 to emotionally terrorise you

thinks emojis are cringe unless he’s being a menace

example messages:

“ok 👍” (you’re in trouble) “i’m ignoring u rn 😐” sends a pic of soonie with 🐱 and no context

Changbin // 창빈 emoji usage tier: B-Tier his emoji game is emotional gym bro meets softie energy go-to emojis: 💪 😭 🖤 🐷 how he uses them:

💪 = “i’m tough” but also “i’ll carry you to bed if needed”

😭 every time he gets flustered or fake-upset when you don’t answer

uses 🖤 when trying to sound cool but he’s actually a mushball

has sent 🐷 once in a self-roast and you never let him live it down

example messages:

“did u eat?? u better 😭” “thinking about u at the gym 💪” “stop being so cute omg 😭🖤”

Hyunjin // 현진 emoji usage tier: S-Tier curated like a Pinterest board. devastatingly effective. go-to emojis: ✨ 🤍 🥺 😭 how he uses them:

sends ✨ in between words like poetry

🤍 when he’s being soft and vulnerable (aka always)

🥺 because he knows you can’t handle it

occasionally drops a 😭 when he’s being dramatic (every day)

example messages:

“you looked like a dream today ✨” “i’m gonna paint you someday 🤍” “i miss u. painfully. 😭🥺” sends an aesthetic pic of the sky with no words and just ✨

Han // 한 emoji usage tier: F-Tier you are NOT safe. no pattern. pure chaos. go-to emojis: 🤡 😭 🐸 🙈 🧍‍♂️ how he uses them:

uses 🤡 for self-roasting AND flirting. dual purpose.

sends 😭 100x and means a different thing every time

will drop 🐸 + 🚗 with no context and expect you to understand

sends 7 emojis in a row. still says he’s being “normal”

example messages:

“i accidentally flirted with u. my bad 🧍‍♂️🤡🙈” “love u lol 😭🐸” sends frog emoji + heart + explosion + traffic light “decipher that. it means i miss u”

Felix // 필릭스 emoji usage tier: A-Tier sunshine-coded chaos. go-to emojis: ✨ 🥺 💛 ☀️ 🫶 how he uses them:

overuses ✨ and 🥺 in the most endearing way

💛 = you’re in trouble (but in a soft way)

will send 🫶 with no words and you’ll still melt

sometimes throws in a kiss emoji and immediately follows it with “ignore that”

example messages:

“i saw this cat and thought of u 🥺✨” “don’t skip lunch okay? 💛” “i love you more than brownies 🫶” “wait i sent that kiss emoji by accident pls don’t—”

Seungmin // 승민 emoji usage tier: C-Tier (and proud of it) cold-blooded texter who occasionally slips go-to emojis: 🙄 👍 😐 😎 how he uses them:

sends 👍 like a mic drop

🙄 is his love language (you hate it. you love it.)

pretends emojis are dumb but once sent 🫣 by accident and panicked

sends them sparingly. it hits harder that way.

example messages:

“you’re so dramatic 🙄” “sure. 👍” “not thinking about u or anything 😐” randomly sends 😎 and refuses to explain

I.n // 아이엔 emoji usage tier: B-Tier youngest = chaotic emoji prince go-to emojis: 😩 🧃 🐸 💥 🥹 how he uses them:

will text like he’s casting spells with emoji chains

uses 🥹 when he wants something from you

somehow turned 🧃 into a flirt tactic??

once sent 💥🐸🧍‍♂️ and said “that’s us”

example messages:

“wyd 🧃🐸💥” “you’re kinda my fav person 🥹” “u like me? say yes or i’ll explode 💥😩” “this emoji reminds me of you 🧃 (don’t ask why)”

#stray kids #Stray kids x reader #bang chan x reader #lee know x reader #minho x reader #changbin x reader #hyunjin x reader #han x reader #Jisung x reader #Felix x reader #seungmin x reader #jeongin x reader #i.n x reader #sundaysoftdrops

287 notes · View notes

pixiexdusts-world · 5 months ago

Text

The last game

Chishiya x reader

Summary: A carefree girl earns Chishiya’s respect through her charm and unpredictability in a deadly game.

Word count: 741

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

I knew he was trouble the first time I saw him—tall, cool, and looking like he could read my mind. But I didn’t mind. Honestly, I liked the way he looked at me like I was a puzzle he wanted to figure out. I’m not dumb, but I guess I don’t exactly come off as the smartest person in the room, either. That’s fine, though. I don’t need to be brainy to keep up with him.

Chishiya’s the kind of guy who doesn’t waste words. He says exactly what he means, and when he smiles, it’s like he already knows something you don’t. He’s a little scary, but I like it. He has this way of making everything feel like a game—a game I don’t always understand, but I play along.

He usually leaves me out of the really dangerous stuff, the mind games and the strategy talk. He knows I’m not good with that—hell, half the time I don’t even get what’s going on. But he doesn’t mind. Or at least, he never shows it.

It was during one of those endless nights when the games seemed to drag on forever that I found myself sitting beside him in a dark corner of the building. Everyone else was fighting, plotting, scheming. But me? I was just… existing. Trying to look cute. Trying to make him smile.

He didn’t look at me, not at first. His eyes were focused on the game screen, his mind already miles ahead, analyzing the next move. I was used to it by now, the way he just… tuned me out when things were important. It didn’t bother me.

But when I shifted and bumped his shoulder, he looked up, those sharp eyes locking onto mine.

“You’re quiet tonight,” he said, his voice low, like he was testing something.

I smiled, my fingers playing with the hem of my shirt. “Just thinking… about us, I guess.”

Chishiya didn’t react right away. His gaze lingered, as if trying to decipher what I meant. But I didn’t care. I liked being mysterious sometimes. I was a lot of things, but I wasn’t always predictable.

“Thinking about what?” he asked.

“About how I can make you smile,” I said with a grin, leaning a little closer.

He raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. “Is that your strategy?”

I shrugged, flipping my hair and making sure he caught the way I looked at him. “I guess you could say that.”

For a moment, he didn’t respond. His lips quirked up into a half-smile, the kind of smile that made you wonder if he was mocking you or just playing a game you didn’t quite understand.

“You know, I’ve been watching you,” he said, eyes narrowing slightly. “You’re not as dumb as you seem.”

I laughed, brushing it off. “Hey, I’m not stupid. I just like to have fun.”

His smile turned a little more genuine, and it made my heart race. “Fun can be dangerous,” he said, but there was a softness in his voice that didn’t match his usual cold tone.

I blinked at him. “Is that why you like me? ‘Cause I’m dangerous?”

He tilted his head, considering the question. “You’re not dangerous. But you’re unpredictable. And that makes things interesting.”

The next day, things went south. As usual, the game was twisted and brutal. The other players were ruthless, fighting for their lives in the most twisted ways. I kept close to Chishiya, though. He was my shield, my secret weapon. Not because he wanted to protect me, but because I kept him entertained. I had a feeling he liked keeping me close for the challenge, for the puzzle I presented.

“You’re not like the others,” he said when we managed to hide away from the chaos. “You don’t try to fight. You just… let things happen.”

I smiled, flipping my hair over my shoulder. “I don’t need to fight to win, babe. I have other ways.”

He studied me for a moment, that unreadable expression on his face. “You really think that?”

I nodded, proud of myself. “Of course. I have my charm.”

Chishiya’s lips twitched into a smirk, but there was something different about it now. He wasn’t laughing at me, not anymore. It was like he finally understood me. He knew I wasn’t just a dumb girl in a messed-up game. I was a player, too, in my own way.

And for the first time, I thought maybe, just maybe, he respected me. Not for my brain, but for the way I played the game.

“Don’t make me regret this,” he said, turning to leave.

I watched him go, my heart fluttering for reasons I didn’t fully understand. I was smart enough to know that with Chishiya, I was always one step behind—but that didn’t mean I didn’t want to play. And if that meant being the unpredictable, carefree girl who kept him intrigued, then so be it.

Because in the end, that was the game we were both playing.

#Alice in borderland #alice in borderland x you #alice in borderland x reader #chishiya shuntaro #chishiya alice in borderland #aib chishiya #chishiya x reader #chishiya x you #chishiya shuntaro x reader #chishiya aib #aib x reader

238 notes · View notes

luxerians · 5 months ago

Text

The Last Mask (12)

Hwang In-ho/Oh Young-il/Player 001 x Reader

Chapter 12 - Lights Out

Story Masterlist

NEXT : Chapter 13

PREV : Chapter 11

A tense silence lingered in the dormitory, each second dragging as if time itself had slowed. The weight of the announcement loomed over everyone. None of you could decipher its meaning, except for two. Gi-hun stood rigidly, his face etched with apprehension, while Young-il exuded an unsettling calmness.

The sharp creak of opening doors shattered the silence. On either side of the main double doors, smaller ones slid open, revealing triangle guards escorting a group of male players. A wave of confusion rippled through you as the scene unfolded. The door on the right was supposed to lead to the women’s restroom. Why were men emerging from it? And why were they being led by triangle guards? Restroom visits during free time had never been an issue before.

Your confusion deepened as you took in the state of the players. Their faces showed clear signs of weariness, their uniforms were disheveled, and some bore visible injuries. A few had streaks of blood smeared across their clothes and faces.

You tried to piece together the situation but before you could make sense of it, a player coming from the door in the O zone charged forward, his voice cutting through the murmurs. “Team O, everyone!”

It was Thanos’ friend, player 124. Blood streaked his face and hands, his movements frantic. “We… When we were in the bathroom, those fucking X bastards tried to kill all of us! They killed some of us, including my friend-”

His words ignited a spark that lit the room. Many players, including Young-il beside you, rose to their feet, the tension pulling them like magnets toward the unfolding drama. You remained seated, too stunned to move, your mind racing to process his claims.

“Bullshit,” another voice rang out. It was player 047, one of the X players.

At this point, all players who had gone to the bathroom had emerged from the doors on both sides, their steps sluggish, their faces marked with fatigue and wariness. Blood and bruises hinted at a violent encounter. Player 047 pointed an accusing finger at player 124. “You’re the ones who started it.”

The dormitory shifted as X and O players descended the staircases, aligning themselves with their respective allies, and the center became filled rapidly as the two groups faced off. The air was thick with crackling tension. The red and blue lines were the only ones separating potential chaos from an all-out eruption.

Player 047’s voice broke through again, this time addressing the X players around him. “They threatened one of the people on our side! They attacked us to win the second vote!”

“That’s right!” another X player, his face streaked with blood, shouted in agreement.

“Hey, hey,” countered a bald O player. Blood stained his shirt, adding to the heated atmosphere. “You killed one of us first. You were trying to win the vote by killing us!”

“Fuck you. You killed some of us too,” an X player (145) snapped back. His voice was raw with rage. “Did you think we would just let you kill the rest of us?!”

The crowd’s energy escalated, players inching closer to the brink of another verbal brawl. The shouting grew louder, overlapping into a chaotic storm of voices.

Then player 100’s booming voice silenced them all. “So… which side lost more people?!”

Your breath caught. You stared at him in disbelief. That’s what he cares about? Not the fact that some people among us had crossed the boundary and killed others?

You turned your gaze to the triangle guards stationed by the doors. Their stony silence was unsettling. Why didn’t they intervene? Was this all part of the game? Did they truly not care about players slaughtering each other?

Your eyes shifted to the massive piggy bank suspended near the ceiling. Its ominous presence loomed over the room, a constant reminder of the stakes. In that moment, it all clicked. The guards didn’t intervene because they didn’t need to. Player eliminations, whether by games or murder, were part of the system. Each death fueled the prize money. It was a macabre incentive for chaos.

Horror crept over you as you looked back at the crowd. Soon enough, all players would understand this and take advantage of it. The greed in some players’ eyes was bright and wild at this point. This wasn’t just a game anymore; it was an opportunity for those willing to kill.

Player 100’s voice snapped you out of your grim thoughts. “Everyone! Let’s count the numbers! Come on down!”

Player 047 moved toward your group’s corner, raising his arms to rally the X voters. “Everyone! Gather around!”

Dae-ho followed suit, his voice urgent as he encouraged others to gather. “We need everyone down here! Come on!”

The next thing you knew, every X player had gathered in your group’s corner, sitting on the staircases in a reverse pyramid formation. The only one standing among you was player 047, who stood on the floor, facing everyone and counting each person carefully.

You sat next to Young-il, his calm demeanor contrasting sharply with the anticipation in the air. On your other side sat Gi-hun, followed by Jung-bae and Dae-ho. Behind your row were Se-mi, Jun-hee, Hyun-ju, Gyeong-seok, the mother, and Yong-sik. All eyes were fixed on player 047 as he completed his count.

Once finished, he spoke in a hushed tone, “Two people died on our side.”

“Two out of five,” a female player behind Gyeong-seok noted quietly. “That means they lost three people.”

Se-mi, seated directly behind you, added, “Then we have a better shot at winning the vote tomorrow.”

Jung-bae leaned in excitedly, his whisper carrying to everyone nearby. “Hey, it’s 48 against 47. As long as we don’t change our minds, we’ll win by one vote!”

His words sparked a ripple of hope among the X players. Whispered cheers and quiet smiles spread through the group, their restraint driven by the need to avoid attracting attention from the O players.

“We’ll win.”

“We can get out of here tomorrow.”

The whispered sentiments filled the air with a fragile optimism. You couldn’t help but smile, feeling a flicker of relief. Despite the losses during the bathroom brawl, the prospect of finally leaving this place without more deaths felt within reach.

You glanced at Young-il, hoping to share in the collective hope, but his expression caught you off guard. He remained still. There was no hint of relief or excitement. Instead, he exuded an unsettling calmness. His gaze seemed distant as though his thoughts were already a step ahead of everyone else.

The familiar chime of the school bell echoed through the dormitory, cutting through the murmurs and drawing everyone’s attention. The announcer’s voice followed: “Attention, please. Lights out in 30 minutes. All players, please return to your beds and prepare for bedtime.”

Player 047 stood up and turned to face the gathered X players. His voice was low, meant only for those in your group. “Listen. You cannot change your minds. We have to win the second vote and get out of here tomorrow. Alright?”

A wave of quiet agreement rippled through the group. Nods and murmurs of affirmation filled the space.

Then, remembering the events that had sparked the earlier fight in the men’s bathroom, you leaned forward slightly and spoke in a hushed tone, “If you get bullied or forced to vote otherwise, tell us.”

This time, the nods were more deliberate, accompanied by whispers of support:

“That’s right. Don’t go anywhere alone tonight.”

“Yes, for one night. We can do this.”

As the group’s focus sharpened, your gaze drifted across the crowd. You spotted Yong-sik gently patting his mother’s back as tears brimmed in her eyes. Her expression was a mix of disbelief and hope, as if she couldn't believe the nightmare would finally end soon. Nearby, Hyun-ju was smiling softly at Jun-hee. Her hand rested lightly on Jun-hee’s knee, a quiet gesture of comfort and shared relief. Jun-hee returned the smile, her eyes shining with gratitude.

The sight warmed you. It was rare to see such unity, such shared understanding, especially in a place like this. Despite everything, the X players had formed a bond that felt genuine.

Slowly, the X players began to disperse, their movements calm and quiet. The hope in their eyes, the quiet smiles exchanged between them… it all felt like a fragile promise of better days. You stood, following your groupmates as they made their way back to your spot beneath the stairs.

You and your group sat in the enclosed space beneath the stairs. At first, it was just you, Gi-hun, Jung-bae, Dae-ho, Young-il, and Jun-hee. Soon, Hyun-ju, Gyeong-seok, Yong-sik, and his mother joined, followed by players 047 and 145. Everyone was welcomed openly.

Forming a circle on the floor, you found yourself seated between Jun-hee and the mother, purposefully creating space between you and Young-il. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to sit near him; you simply wanted to spend more time with Jun-hee. After all, you had been spending a lot of time with Young-il recently and you began to miss your little sister figure in this grim place. As you delicately combed her hair with your fingers, the soothing action seemed to bring a bit of peace to the moment.

Dae-ho stood suddenly, sneaking a glance toward the O players gathered across the dormitory. He crouched beside Gi-hun and spoke lowly, “Those bastards are acting suspicious. It looks like they’re up to something.”

Withdrawing your hand from Jun-hee’s hair, you looked at Dae-ho.

“Suspicious like how?” you asked, your tone innocent but laced with concern.

Dae-ho’s face was a mixture of worry and solemnity as he replied, “They keep whispering among themselves and glancing at our zone. They’re planning something.”

You followed his gaze. The O players were huddled together, their heads bent close, their voices low. Every so often, their eyes darted toward your corner. It was unsettling.

Jung-bae glanced over and scoffed. “Whatever those idiots do, once we win the vote tomorrow, it’ll all be over.”

Dae-ho, however, wasn’t convinced. His concern was evident as he asked, “You think we’ll be okay? They say things were really crazy in the bathroom earlier.”

Silence fell over the group, the weight of his words pressing down on everyone. You felt your stomach tighten. The memory of the bathroom fight, the deaths, and the lack of consequences made you feel cold. The guards' inaction during such violence sent a chilling message. If players killed each other, it was acceptable. The prize money would still grow.

“Once the lights go out,” Gi-hun’s voice broke the silence. He stared at the floor, his expression grim. “People on the other side will attack us.”

Your breath hitched. The certainty in his tone left no room for doubt. You felt your blood running cold as you fixed your wide-eyed stare at him.

Yong-sik’s wide eyes were glued on Gi-hun as he asked, “Really?”

Gi-hun nodded gravely. “Because if they kill us, they’ll be able to win the vote and increase the prize.”

Jun-hee’s already pale complexion turned ashen and she instinctively caressed her belly. Yong-sik’s mother froze in fear, her gaze locked on Gi-hun as though seeking reassurance where none existed. Dae-ho and Jung-bae exchanged uneasy glances, both speechless. Meanwhile, Young-il sat unmoved, his expression emotionless and unreadable.

Yong-sik’s voice cracked slightly as he asked, “So what do we do?”

“Let’s attack them first,” Young-il said, his tone as measured as his words. The statement caused Gi-hun to look at him sharply. His gaze was immediately steely and serious. Young-il elaborated, “They’re probably thinking we’ll just wait for the second vote. We can use that to our advantage. We’ll attack them first once the lights go out.”

You couldn’t take your eyes off him, wondering if he had encountered this exact scenario in his previous game. The certainty in his tone was unsettling as if he was speaking from experience.

Player 047 broke the silence. “That’s right. It’d be better to attack them first. We have more women and elderly on our side. If we get attacked, we’ll be at a disadvantage. Attacking them first would give us a better chance of winning.”

Player 145 nodded in agreement. “I agree.”

Before the idea could settle, Gi-hun’s voice cut through decisively. “We can’t do that.”

His immediate response stunned the group into silence.

Young-il stared pointedly at him in quiet surprise. “But we have to get out of here. You said it yourself. Staying calm won’t get us anywhere now.”

Gi-hun didn’t flinch, his determination unwavering. “That doesn’t mean we should kill each other. That’s exactly what they want us to do.”

You blinked. Jung-bae echoed the question that had formed in your mind as well. “They?”

Gi-hun’s eyes shifted to meet yours briefly before scanning the group. He spoke with quiet resolve. “The ones who created this game. The ones who watch us play. If we’re going to fight someone, it should be them.”

Dae-ho frowned. “Where are they?”

Gi-hun’s gaze lifted upward, and instinctively, you and the others followed it. The vast space above felt ominous and unreachable, a reminder of the system you were all trapped within. Young-il’s eyes flickered upward briefly before returning to Gi-hun, his expression unreadable but intense.

“On the upper levels are the rooms they control the games from,” Gi-hun explained, his voice heavy with conviction. “The man in the black mask is their leader. Once we capture him, we’ll be able to win.”

Your eyebrows raised at the audacity of his plan, and you couldn’t help but ask, “Are you saying you plan to overthrow this whole management?”

Gi-hun’s determined yet grave eyes locked onto yours. He nodded firmly. “Yes.”

The room fell into a thick silence. You could feel the weight of his words pressing down on everyone, the enormity of what he was suggesting settling in. Some of the group exchanged glances. Gi-hun was a previous winner, and that lent him credibility, but this plan… it sounded almost impossible.

You stole a glance at Young-il, hoping to glean some insight from his reaction. His face was an enigma. It was void of emotion. Unreadable. Yet his unblinking stare at Gi-hun carried a weight of its own. It was as if he was dissecting every word, every intention behind the plan. His eyes seemed darker, his demeanor more solemn than usual like something deep and dark brewed beneath the surface.

You frowned, your curiosity piqued. What was he thinking? Why did he seem so skeptical, so… calculating? You couldn’t shake the feeling that Young-il’s silence carried as much weight as Gi-hun’s bold proclamation.

Finally, Young-il broke the silence, his voice measured. “How are you going to fight them? They have guns.”

Gi-hun’s response was confident. “We’ll fight them with guns too.”

“But we don’t have any,” Jung-bae pointed out, his tone tinged with innocence and disbelief.

Gi-hun turned to him, unfazed. “We’ll take their guns.”

Jung-bae stared at him, his disbelief morphing into something closer to exasperation. Gyeong-seok hesitated before asking, “From those masked men?”

Gi-hun gave a single, firm nod. Jung-bae sighed deeply, leaning his head back as though the mere thought of the plan was already weighing on him.

“That’s too dangerous,” Young-il interjected. His voice was steady but carried a note of caution. “Even if we manage to take a few guns, we’ll still be outnumbered.”

“What then?” Gi-hun fired back. “Are you going to kill each other all night and hope you survive?”

Young-il froze, his mouth slightly open, although his eyes seemed darkly contemplative. Gi-hun pressed further. “Is that what you want, Young-il?”

Young-il didn’t counter. He stayed silent, his gaze fixed on Gi-hun. His expression hardened into something unreadable, but there was a weight in his silence – a seriousness that darkened his demeanor.

“Do we…” Hyun-ju spoke up, “...stand a chance?”

Gi-hun’s gaze shifted to her, his determination unwavering. “We do if we catch them off guard. Out of everyone, they’re the ones who would least expect us to attack first. This is our last chance to end these games once and for all.”

You faintly noticed Young-il clenching his jaw, his expression hardening before he asked Gi-hun gravely, “How are you going to take their guns?”

Gi-hun scowled, his gaze sharp with concentration. “Once the fight begins tonight, we’ll have our chance.”

The group fell silent, waiting for him to elaborate. “When the lights go out, get under the bottom beds quietly. You must not get caught by those planning to attack us. We have to hide until the fight ends.”

You frowned deeply, your displeasure evident. His plan didn’t sit well with you. Gi-hun pressed on, “Don’t get caught up in the fight.”

“What?” you interjected, surprise and frustration lacing your voice.

Jung-bae echoed your concern. “But that would put people on our side at quite a disadvantage. Without us in the fight, they’ll be outnumbered.”

“I know,” Gi-hun said, glancing at both you and Jung-bae. He then shifted his focus to the rest of the group. “But if we fight with them and some of us end up dead or injured, it will ruin our entire plan. We can’t beat those bastards with a lower headcount.”

Young-il’s gaze darkened, his tone carrying a heavy disbelief. “Are you suggesting that... we make a small sacrifice for the greater good?”

Gi-hun’s eyes locked with Young-il’s, recognizing the weight of his words. Still, he nodded very, very faintly. His voice held determination as he said, “If we miss this opportunity, the sacrifice will be even greater. Even if it takes a sacrifice, we must put an end to this game now.”

Young-il’s gaze dropped to the floor. You caught the faintest twitch of his lips as if he found the situation grimly ironic. He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, saying nothing more.

Gi-hun continued, “Once the lights come on, the soldiers will come to settle the situation. They’ll try to break up the fight first. They won’t pay attention to the dead. They will scan our trackers to identify us. That’ll be our window.”

Your frustration bubbled over, and you finally voiced your thoughts. “Are you really going to leave our allies like that?”

All eyes turned to you, but your glare remained locked on Gi-hun. You added, “You’re telling me you’d hide under the bed and let the O players attack everyone in this zone? All for your plan?”

Gi-hun’s expression faltered slightly as if shocked that you had spoken up. His face then stiffened into resolve as he answered, “This is the only chance we have. Once this game is stopped, this game will no longer use us as pawns.”

“If I weren’t close to your group or involved with any of you, would I even know about this attack? Would you warn me?” you pressed, your voice rising slightly. “Would I be left to fend for myself against an ambush while you and the others hide?”

Gi-hun’s jaw tightened. “It’s not about leaving anyone behind. It’s about ending this game once and for all.”

“But that doesn’t mean we can’t help our people now,” you shot back. “We have to fight back, not just accept them as inevitable.”

Gi-hun’s brows furrowed, his voice rising. “Do you think it’s better to retaliate and play into their hands? Attacking back is exactly what they want. They want us to kill each other. To entertain them.”

“We’re not going to kill them,” you insisted. “We will defend ourselves. We can alert our people about the attack. Get them prepared. Get them to a safe spot where capable men can protect them. If needed, we can subdue the O players without bloodshed.”

Gi-hun’s confidence wavered for a moment under the weight of your words. Yet he persisted. “If we join the fight and lose even a few, it will ruin our chances of overthrowing this game. We must preserve all the best men we have right now.”

“Then we have to join the fight,” you answered in a steady, measured tone. “Defend without bloodshed. Defend as a team. If we join the fight, more capable men will survive the ambush. They will join you willingly.”

Gi-hun stared at you, his gaze faltering, and this time, he had no counter. His lips parted as though he wanted to say more, but the words never came. The others merely watched the two of you, their unease palpable. Dae-ho and Jung-bae exchanged nervous glances as though they hadn’t expected there would come a time when you and Gi-hun had disagreements.

Slowly, you rose to a crouching position. All eyes followed you, yet your focus remained on Gi-hun. Your voice was firm as you said, “Go ahead with your plan. I’m not stopping you. If you don’t want to join the fight, that’s fine. But the others deserve to know about the attack.”

Without waiting for a response, you stood up, turned on your heel and began walking toward the other X players, ready to share what you knew. You'd make sure no one was left defenseless.

You approached a pair of female X players sitting on a lower bunk bed. Their conversation halted as you leaned in, lowering your voice to a whisper. “Hey, sorry to interrupt, but I need to warn you. There’s going to be an attack when the lights go out.”

Their eyes widened. One of them glanced nervously around the dormitory before whispering back, “An attack? Are you sure?”

“Yes,” you said firmly. “The O players are planning to ambush us. You need to be ready.”

“What should we do?” the other asked, her voice barely audible.

You glanced around. “First, don’t throw away the fork that came with your gimbap. Keep it. You can use it to defend yourself if someone tries to attack you. Then, choose the beds near the wall or under the stairs. Hide under the bed once the ambush starts.”

Their expressions shifted, the initial confusion replaced by understanding.

“Do you have your water bottles?” you asked.

They nodded and quickly pulled the bottles from their bedding, each one half full.

“Good,” you said. “Keep those too. If anyone tries to harm you, aim for their head.”

They both nodded, fear flickering in their eyes.

“Thank you,” one of them whispered, her voice trembling but sincere.

You nodded back, giving them a reassuring look before moving on. As you navigated through the dim dormitory, scanning for more X players to warn, a hand landed on your shoulder. You jumped slightly, spinning around to see Young-il standing behind you. His gaze was calm but serious.

“How many people have you warned?” he asked in a low voice.

“A couple,” you said, catching your breath.

Before Young-il could respond, a group of familiar faces approached. Gyeong-seok, Hyun-ju, player 047, and player 145 joined you. They stood together next to Young-il, eyes fixed on you.

“What else can we do?” Gyeong-seok asked calmly.

You quickly laid out the plan. “Warn every X players if possible. Tell them that we only defend and subdue. Tell them to keep their forks and water bottles. Get the women and elderly to move to beds under the stairs or near the walls. Before the Os attack us, inform them to hide under the beds for extra protection.”

“And let’s assign a few men to guard those areas,” Young-il added, glancing at the group. “We need to make sure someone is watching over them during the attack.”

“Got it. I will warn everyone on the left side of the zone,” Hyun-ju said.

Player 047 gestured to the opposite side. “We’ll handle the right. Let's warn them discreetly so the Os wouldn't suspect anything.”

Gyeong-seok, Hyun-ju, player 047 and 145 dispersed to begin warning the players. Young-il’s hand lingered briefly on your shoulder. “You’ve done enough here. Now go and find two beds next to each other for us both.”

You could tell immediately that Young-il planned to watch over you and guide you when the ambush began. That was why he insisted on finding two beds close together – one for him, one for you.

“How’s Gi-hun?” you asked.

Young-il hesitated, his gaze drifting briefly. “He was caught off guard. After you left, I told him to rethink his plan. He’s angry at the game maker and grieving for his friends from the last game, but I reminded him to consider the people here too.”

You nodded, letting his words sink in as you turned your attention to the rest of the dormitory. The quiet sound of shuffling feet caught your ear, and you noticed that many X players were busy preparing. Some were rummaging through the trash for discarded forks, others were marking their beds for strategic positioning, and a few had started spreading the word to others.

Your gaze shifted to Se-mi, who sat upright on her bed. She watched the quiet movements and whispered conversations around her but didn’t join in. Her demeanor suggested she was used to being on her own, even though she didn’t avoid social interactions entirely.

You gestured for Young-il to wait, then made your way to her. Se-mi noticed you approaching and looked up with a small, tired smile.

“You shouldn’t be alone right now,” you said, stopping by her bed.

“I prefer it this way,” she replied, her tone calm. “At least I don’t have to constantly watch my back or worry about getting betrayed.”

You stayed silent, sensing there was a deeper story behind her words. Maybe she had been left to fend for herself during the Mingle game.

“Then you need to be prepared,” you said after a pause. “Keep your fork and water bottle close. The Os are planning to attack us tonight. We just need to defend ourselves until the guards intervene.”

Se-mi’s eyes shifted toward the O zone, lingering for a moment as if she was trying to look for a certain player there. Then, her gaze dropped to her bed, and she gave a small nod. “Sure. Thanks for the heads-up.”

“If you need help during lights out,” you said, offering a small, reassuring smile, “find me or anyone in my group. We’ll help you.”

She looked at you, staring for a little while as if she was trying to find any trace of fakeness in your expression. Then, she brought her gaze downward. “Thanks.”

You nodded, then turned and walked away, giving her the space she seemed to value. As you moved through the dormitory, you scanned the faces around you, searching for others who might need a warning or reassurance.

The air in the room felt heavier now. More X players were talking in hushed tones, their movements deliberate as they adjusted their beds or collected anything they could use as a weapon. Some looked confident, while others were clearly masking their fear. You couldn’t blame them. The uncertainty of what was coming was enough to unsettle anyone.

You spotted Hyun-ju near the wall, speaking with a small group of women. She caught your eye and gave a subtle nod, signaling that she was making progress on her side. Not far from her, Gyeong-seok was quietly showing a few older players the safer spots under the stairs. Everyone was falling into place, the plan taking shape with a kind of quiet urgency.

As you continued to move, Young-il’s presence beside you was both reassuring and grounding. He didn’t say much, but his watchful gaze and calm demeanor made it clear he was assessing everything, ready to step in if needed.

“Do you think they’ll really try something?” you asked him quietly.

“It’s likely,” he replied. “There are no consequences, and the prize money grows with every elimination. For some people, that’s enough motivation.”

You nodded, his words confirming what you already suspected. The Os weren’t just competitors now. They were potential threats.

***

“Lights out in ten seconds.”

At this point, everyone was in bed. Your bed was right next to Young-il. You were lying on the bed on your back with the blanket up to your chest. With one glance to the side, you noticed Young-il staring upward calmly, lying on his back.

“Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, mfour , three, two, one.”

The lights went out, darkening the whole dormitory except for the O and X lights on the floor. The piggy bank light was turned off for some reason this time.

Nevertheless, you quickly moved out of the bed as silent as possible. You noticed more figures getting out of their bed too in the X zone. You noticed they were all women and the elderly. They were moving to hide under the bed or to a safe spot.

You quietly moved to hide under your bed. Young-il stayed in his bed, feigning sleep with his eyes closed. You looked towards the center and there they were.

The O players were quietly creeping from their beds and onto the floor. They crept slowly and silently in the center towards the X zone. The blue light of the O sign below them shone light on their forms. They were carrying forks. They were led by player 124, the late Thanos’ close friend. You faintly detected player 100 behind all of them, choosing to stay safe and let his pawns do all the dirty work.

Once a few of them crossed the red lines belonged to X zone in the center, they sprinted. They no longer cared about being heard. They dashed towards the X players’ beds and climbed up.

You were shocked to see someone rushing towards Young-il’s bed and aimed his fork on him, but Young-il was fast. He simply wrapped his arm around with his blanket and then wrapped it around his neck. Young-il tugged the blanket – which was coiled around the assailant’s neck – until the O player was tied to the railing of his bed, subdued.

Screams began to erupt, startling you with how horrifying it sounded like. It was like hearing humans scream in desperation, greed, helplessness in one place. It was bone-chilling.

The lights began to flicker erratically, casting the dormitory into an alternating rhythm of stark brightness and shadowy darkness. Each flash illuminated the chaos: figures clashing, beds overturning, and forks gleaming mid-strike. It felt intentional, as though the game maker had programmed this light to amplify the terror and confusion.

That’s when a body fell on the floor right beside your hiding spot under the bed. You glanced over to see it was O player. He was groaning in surprise and you saw a broken shard of glass embedded in his arm. No doubt he was caught off guard by X players’ readiness to defend themselves.

Your heart raced as you watched the chaos unfold. The O players had underestimated the X zone’s readiness, and now their ambush was turning into a messy, desperate fight. From your hiding spot, you could only hope the preparations had been enough.

You scanned the room from under the bed, your eyes darting across the chaos. On the far side, two O male players were closing in on three X women, cornering them against the wall. Fear flashed across the women’s faces as they huddled together, their backs pressed against the cold surface.

Without hesitation, you slid out from under the bed, staying low to avoid drawing attention. As you moved, fights raged on both sides, the sounds of shouts and grunts filling the air. Your heart pounded as you dodged flailing arms and feet, pushing through the chaos toward the women.

Your mind raced. You weren’t here to kill anyone, just to defend yourself and your allies. But you had no combat experience, and your hands trembled as you reached into your pocket and gripped the fork. It was the only weapon you had.

When you reached the two O players, they were focused entirely on the women, their backs turned to you. Steeling yourself, you lunged forward and drove the fork into one man’s forearm, aiming for a non-lethal spot. The metal prongs sank in, and he let out a sharp scream, jerking away from the pain.

You swiftly pulled the fork back and the man spun around, clutching his bleeding arm. His eyes met yours, wide with a mix of fury and shock. Before he could react further, you stepped in front of the women, positioning yourself as a barrier between them and the attackers.

The injured man sneered, “You’re gonna pay for that.”

You didn’t respond. Your teeth clenched as you readied yourself for their attack. Both men advanced, their forks glinting ominously under the flickering lights. Every instinct told you to stay focused and move.

One of them lunged, his fork aimed straight for you. You dodged at the last second, feeling the rush of air as the weapon missed you by inches. Without thinking, you retaliated, driving your fork into his shoulder. He screamed in pain, stumbling back. But before you could catch your breath, his friend rushed at you.

This time, you evaded the fork, but his kick landed squarely against your side, sending you flying backward. You yelped, colliding into the three women huddled against the wall. Their hands came up instinctively to soften your fall, steadying you before you hit the ground.

You pushed yourself upright, ignoring the sharp ache in your ribs. The men were closing in again, their faces twisted with anger. But then, out of the corner of your eye, you saw a blur of movement.

Young-il emerged from the chaos. His face was a mask of silent, restrained fury. Without hesitation, he went for the man with the injured shoulder. Grabbing the man’s wrist, he twisted it sharply, forcing the fork to clatter to the floor. In one smooth motion, he swept the man’s legs out from under him and drove his knee into the man’s face, breaking his nose. The man instantly fell unconscious.

The second man tried to attack while Young-il was occupied, raising his fork and lunging. But Young-il was ready. He caught the man’s wrist mid-strike, holding it firmly in an iron grip. With a swift, controlled motion, Young-il twisted the wrist, forcing the fork out of the man’s hand and onto the floor. Before the man could react, Young-il landed a punch on the man’s stomach, knocking the wind out of him. As the man doubled over, Young-il swept his feet out from under him, sending him crashing to the ground.

Both men were now subdued, groaning and immobilized. Young-il stood over them, his breathing steady and controlled.

“Go! Hide somewhere safe,” you told the women, urgency lacing your voice.

“Over here!” a voice called out. You turned to see Hyun-ju and Gyeong-seok near the stairs. They were guarding a group of women and elderly in a safe spot under the stairs.

“We have a safe spot right here!” Hyun-ju shouted, waving the women over.

The three women nodded and hurried toward the stairs. You watched them go, relief mingling with the adrenaline still pumping through your veins. Turning back to Young-il, you saw him straighten up and scanned you up and down.

“You okay?” Young-il asked, stepping closer under the flickering lights.

You pressed a hand to your side where the man had kicked you. Pain flared when you applied pressure, but you managed to reply, “This is nothing.”

Young-il opened his mouth to say something, but his attention snapped to the side. Following his gaze, you saw six O players approaching, their steps slow but deliberate. The murderous intent in their eyes was unmistakably fixed on him.

Without a word, Young-il grabbed your arm and pulled you behind him. You let him, your hands instinctively landing on his lower back, just near his waist, as you braced for the inevitable.

The two of you took a step back as the men advanced, their weapons glinting in the erratic light. Some held forks; others clutched broken bottles with jagged edges. A knot of worry tightened in your chest. While you had confidence in Young-il’s abilities, he was still outnumbered six to one. And he wasn’t just fighting for himself. He was shielding you too.

Your retreat ended when your back hit the corner of the dormitory, the walls pressing against your shoulders. The O players formed a loose semi-circle, blocking any chance of escape. Your heart pounded as you realized there was no way out.

Young-il spread his legs into a firm stance, raising his hands slightly, ready to defend. His posture pinned you securely behind him, effectively making himself the sole barrier between you and the attackers.

“Young-il, please be careful,” you whispered, your voice trembling as your hands clenched into fists against his back.

The first man lunged with a fork, aiming for Young-il’s side. Young-il grabbed the man’s wrist mid-strike smoothly. With a sharp twist, he forced the fork from the attacker’s hand and used the momentum to slam his face against the wall. The man fell unconscious right away.

Another assailant immediately charged, swinging a broken bottle in a wide arc. Young-il ducked under the swing and drove his palm upward into the man’s chin. The attacker stumbled back, dazed, and Young-il followed up with a swift kick to his knee, sending him crashing to the ground.

Two men attacked simultaneously, one aiming high with a fork and the other swinging low with a bottle. Young-il stepped back just enough to avoid both strikes, then surged forward. He grabbed the fork-wielding man by the collar, pulling him into the path of the bottle. The jagged glass scraped across the first attacker’s arm, making him scream in pain. Before the second man could react, Young-il struck him in the stomach with a powerful knee, forcing the air out of his lungs. Both men crumpled to the ground.

The remaining two attackers hesitated, exchanging uncertain glances. One of them growled, gripping his weapon tighter, and rushed forward. Young-il caught his wrist and twisted it, the sound of the bottle shattering as it fell to the floor. In the same motion, Young-il elbowed the man in the face, his head snapping back as he collapsed in a heap.

The final man hesitated, his eyes darting between Young-il and his fallen comrades. With a yell, he swung wildly with his fork.

Before the man could get close to Young-il, a sharp crash echoed through the chaos as a glass bottle shattered over his head. He crumpled to the floor instantly. Both you and Young-il turned toward the kind perpetrator.

Gi-hun stood there, breathing heavily, gripping the broken neck of the bottle by its cap. His gaze shifted between you two, his expression calm yet conflicted. A small smile crept onto your face, relieved to see him join the fray.

Behind Gi-hun, Jung-bae and Dae-ho rushed forward. Dae-ho flinched at every sound of fists and bodies hitting the floor, his arms extended forward as if staying connected to Jung-bae was his lifeline.

“You’re late,” Young-il said solemnly, sparing Gi-hun a brief glance.

Gi-hun ignored the remark and instead turned to Jung-bae and Dae-ho. “Remember. We defend and subdue only.”

With a nod, Gi-hun led the pair deeper into the chaos, heading toward other X players in need of help. As Young-il stepped aside, giving you room to breathe, your eyes darted across the room to assess the situation.

Toward the left, you spotted Hyun-ju. She sidestepped an O player’s swing with a fork and grabbed his wrist, twisting it sharply until he dropped the weapon with a yelp. She followed with a clean strike to his cheek, sending him sprawling. Gyeong-seok, a few steps behind her, tackled another O player attempting to blindside her. He wrestled the man to the ground, holding him down until Hyun-ju swiftly secured the situation with a sharp, calculated elbow strike that rendered the attacker motionless.

Further back, you caught sight of Jun-hee, the mother, and Yong-sik huddled together under a bed. Their wide eyes darted between the legs of fighters clashing nearby. The mother whispered something to Jun-hee, who nodded, clutching her belly protectively. Yong-sik’s trembling hands clutched the bedframe tightly, his face pale with fear.

Nearby, player 047 and player 145 were fending off two O players who had unfairly ganged up on a single X player. Player 047 grabbed the arm of one attacker mid-swing and twisted it behind his back, forcing him to the ground. Meanwhile, player 145 used a discarded piece of bed railing to parry the other O player’s attacks, buying enough time for the overwhelmed X player to recover and join the fight.

Your eyes landed on Se-mi at the far end of the room. She was weaving and dodging, narrowly avoiding the relentless swings of a certain O player wielding a fork. It was player 124, the late Thanos’ friend. His face was deranged, grinning maniacally, and each swing came with more force, driving Se-mi back until her shoulders hit the wall. Trapped, she barely had room to maneuver.

You didn’t hesitate. You dashed toward her, the sound of your footsteps swallowed by the noise of the fight. Behind you, you heard the familiar, steady steps of Young-il following closely.

As you reached Se-mi, player 124 swung the fork again, this time aiming for her face. You lunged forward, pushing his arm away so hard, forcing him to drop the fork. He growled and turned on you, his fist coming at you in a wide arc.

Before it could connect, Young-il was there. He grabbed player 124’s arm mid-swing and, with a swift motion, locked it behind his back. Player 124 struggled while shouting curses at him, but Young-il kicked his legs out from under him, sending him face-first to the ground. Keeping his grip firm, Young-il pressed a knee into the man’s back, effectively pinning him.

“Fuck you, old man!” yelled player 124. “Let me go, bastard!”

Se-mi looked at you, her breathing ragged but steady.

“Thanks,” she managed, brushing a loose strand of hair out of her face.

“Go,” you told her urgently, gesturing toward the stairs. “Hyun-ju and Gyeong-seok have a safe spot under the stairs. Get there now.”

She nodded and ran toward safety, glancing back only once before running past the ensuing brawls around her. You turned to Young-il, who was still holding player 124 down.

“Release me! How long are you going to pin me down, huh?!” shouted the deranged player 124.

Young-il released his hold and shifted his knee off player 124’s back, letting him get to his feet. But as soon as the man stood, he lashed out, swinging a wild punch at Young-il.

You barely had time to react, but Young-il moved faster. He ducked smoothly under the attack. Before player 124 could recover, Young-il delivered a sharp, precise strike to his jaw.

The force of the blow sent player 124 sprawling to the floor. He hit the ground hard and lay there, completely still. Unconscious.

Young-il straightened, his breathing steady as he glanced at you.

The lights suddenly steadied, illuminating the chaos around you. A loud, blaring sound filled the air as the double doors at the front of the dormitory swung open. Triangle guards rushed in, their guns raised and scanning the room. Behind them, a square-masked guard entered, holding a pistol. The sight of their arrival made everyone scatter instantly, breaking apart in all directions.

Remembering Gi-hun’s plan, you and Young-il dropped to the floor, feigning death. You closed your eyes, doing your best to keep your breathing steady. Around you, the sound of rapid footsteps echoed as guards spread out across the dormitory.

“Hands up. Get back,” one of the guards barked at a group of players.

“Drop your weapon. Hands up,” another commanded, their tone sharp and commanding.

“Check the IDs of the dead,” the square guard ordered.

You kept still, listening intently as the footsteps grew closer. A single set of boots approached you and Young-il. Your heart pounded in your chest, but you stayed motionless.

The sound of boots stopped right beside you. You felt a slight tug at your collar as the guard bent down. Something cold pressed against the spot behind your ear. You fought the urge to flinch.

Suddenly, a blur of movement. Young-il sprang forward, grabbing the guard’s weapon with precision and speed. Before you could even sit up, he twisted the gun against the guard and pulled the trigger. The loud crack of the shot echoed in the dormitory, and the guard fell lifeless to the floor.

You opened your eyes to see Young-il standing over the fallen guard, his grip firm on the weapon he had just taken. Around you, the sounds of shouts and gunfire erupted across the room. Commotion rippled through the dormitory, signaling that the rest of your group had launched their surprise attack on the guards.

You ducked low as Young-il moved with precision, firing at the guards with unwavering focus. Gunshots filled the air, each one echoing sharply through the dormitory. Players who had no knowledge of the plan cowered in fear, their expressions frozen in shock. Under one of the beds, Jun-hee, Yong-sik, and his mother stayed hidden, clutching one another tightly.

Your eyes scanned the room and landed on the fallen guard beside you. On his hip holster was a pistol. Without hesitation, you grabbed it and checked the magazine. Seeing it was full, you flipped off the safety, gripping the weapon firmly.

Crouching low, you peeked over the edge of the bed to assess the situation. Young-il, Gi-hun, Jung-bae, Hyun-ju, Gyeong-seok, player 047, and player 145 were engaged in a fierce gunfight with the guards. The guards, clearly caught off guard by the ambush, were struggling to regroup, and most of them were taken down with relative ease.

As you moved to find a better position, a guard suddenly emerged from a hiding spot under the stairs. He raised his weapon, aiming at the group’s exposed backs. Heart pounding, you dove behind a nearby bed, using it as cover. Taking a deep breath, you steadied your aim and fired.

The first shot missed, but the second and third found their mark, hitting the guard in the stomach and shoulder. He staggered before collapsing to the floor, lifeless. You exhaled sharply as you lowered the pistol.

Glancing back, you noticed Young-il’s gaze flicking toward you. His expression was unreadable, before he turned his attention back to the guards. He and Jung-bae were positioned behind an overturned bed, using it as a makeshift barricade.

You took a moment to observe the others. Despite the chaos, their movements were controlled and deliberate. Each of them handled their weapons with a level of familiarity that could only come from experience. It struck you then: in South Korea, military service was compulsory for men between the ages of 18 and 35. This wasn’t their first time handling firearms.

The gunfire continued, but the guards’ numbers were dwindling rapidly. Your group moved with purpose, systematically taking them down one by one.

The tide of the battle shifted abruptly when a mechanical announcement echoed through the dormitory: “Retreat. Retreat.”

The remaining guards, realizing their position was untenable, began cautiously stepping backward toward the double doors. They fired sporadically as they retreated, their shots aimed to cover their exit. The double doors started to slide shut, and the guards sprinted through the narrowing gap to escape. However, the square guard misjudged the timing. The doors closed firmly, leaving him stranded inside.

“Stop! Hold fire!” Gi-hun shouted, his voice cutting through the chaos. He leveled his gun at the square guard cautiously.

Jung-bae jogged toward the guard, his weapon trained steadily on the man. Player 145 followed closely behind, flanking the guard from another angle.

“Hands above your head! On your knees!” Jung-bae commanded, his voice sharp and firm.

Satisfied that the situation was under control, you flipped the safety on your pistol and tucked it into your pocket. Scanning the room quickly, you spotted Jun-hee, Yong-sik, and his mother still huddled under a bed. You jogged toward them, weaving through the aftermath of the battle.

“Are you okay?” you asked, crouching down to meet their level. Your voice softened as you looked at them. “Is anyone hurt?”

Jun-hee’s pale face turned toward you. Her wide eyes were filled with residual fear, but she managed to shake her head.

“I… I’m okay,” she said quietly, resting a hand protectively on her belly. “The baby’s okay too.”

“Thank goodness,” you replied with a small, relieved smile. You turned your attention to Yong-sik and his mother, who were clutching each other tightly.

“We’re fine,” Yong-sik’s mother said firmly, though her voice carried a faint tremble. She looked at you, her eyes sharp despite the situation. “How about you? Are you alright, miss?”

“I am, thankfully,” you said, smiling.

You heard the shout echo across the dormitory. “You goddamn bastards!”

Turning your gaze to the far end of the open space, you saw player 047, his gun aimed at five O players. Blood stained their faces and hands, evidence of the chaos they’d left in their wake. The O players, clearly terrified, raised their hands high in surrender.

Gi-hun sprinted toward the scene, his expression urgent as he grabbed the barrel of player 047’s gun and pushed it downward. “No!”

“Move!” shouted player 047. “Do you not see this?”

Gi-hun glanced around, his eyes falling on the lifeless bodies of X players who had been unable to defend themselves. You looked too, your heart sinking at the sight of the carnage. The dormitory, once a place of tension and fear, had become a blood-soaked battlefield where greed turned people into monsters.

“They are not human,” player 047 growled, his voice trembling with rage. “They’re like goddamn vermin blinded by money!”

Player 047 raised his gun again, aiming directly at the cowering O players. Gi-hun acted quickly, gripping the weapon firmly and meeting player 047’s glare with steady resolve. His face reflected both understanding and a deep determination as he said, “This is not what we took these guns for. If we do this, we’ll be no different from those masked men.”

As the tense standoff unfolded, you turned and walked toward Young-il. He stood silently nearby, his gun resting against his abdomen. His stillness was striking in contrast to the chaos around him.

Meanwhile, player 047 remained rooted in place, his teeth clenched in frustration. His eyes brimmed with anger and sadness as he glanced at the bodies of his fallen X allies. Slowly, reluctantly, he lowered his gun. His shoulders sagged with defeat, but he yielded to Gi-hun’s reasoning.

Gi-hun patted player 047 on the shoulder. Whether it was a gesture of pride for his restraint or an attempt to comfort him, you couldn’t be sure. After a brief pause, Gi-hun turned and walked to the center of the dormitory. His voice rang out, strong and steady.

“Everyone! Don’t be scared. Gather round, please!”

You glanced at Young-il. Your eyebrows lifted in surprise at the look on his face. His expression remained blank, but there was something contemplative and unsettling about it. It was as if he viewed Gi-hun’s actions with a sense of disapproval, a distaste that lingered just beneath the surface.

NEXT : Chapter 13

PREV : Chapter 11

Story Masterlist

Please feel free to leave comments and feedback about my story, the characters, the "you", and practically anything! I love reading your comments, especially long ones! It motivates me a lot! So, what do you think about your disagreement with Gi-hun? What do you think about the overall lights out? What about Young-il joining the battle and just sticking with you the entire time? And him protecting you all the time and just not letting anyone harm you?? I also want to know your take on Young-il's mysterious reaction towards Gi-hun's "let's hide and let Os attack everyone else" plan and his plan to overthrow the game? Now, what do you want "you" to do in the next few chapters? Because we are really reaching the end of Season 2 and I am terrified.

Leave a comment on the masterlist post to be added to the taglist.

#hwang in ho #hwang in ho x reader #hwang in ho fanfic #in ho #the front man #player 001 #squid game #squid game season 2 #squid game s2 #front man x reader #front man x you

236 notes · View notes

augustixienn · 1 month ago

Text

Hiraeth

(n.) A home that never was. Yearning for someone who was once yours.

pairing: oscar piastri x reader

summary: you miss him, but do you even have the right to.

wc: 917

warning(s): angst, female reader, swearing

Oscar Piastri has always been an enigma to all and a paradox to most. But to her? She knows him like the back of her mind—heck, maybe even beyond that.

She knows his family, his friends, his hobbies, and even down to his mannerisms. She knows how to calm his nerves, how he acts when he’s nervous, and when he’s holding his temper. She knows him so well, but that’s not relevant now, is it? Now that he’s supposed to be a stranger.

A stranger whose laugh she could recognize even from a mile away. A stranger whose voice she could decipher even when her surroundings were in chaos. And lastly, a stranger whom she knows so much about, she doesn’t know how to start forgetting all those things.

It was supposed to be him and her, together. But we all know faith is cruel. Because if it was supposed to be them until the end, then why is he now miles away from her grasp? Someone so close yet so far away now.

“Oscar, let's stop this. You and I know that we aren’t going to work out in the end.” Those words she never thought would come out of her own mouth shot out of her like a grenade waiting to explode.

She never thought there might come a day when she’d hurt him. But she did, and at that time, it was the right thing.

“What do you mean, not working out? We were just happy yesterday. We were happy up until now, weren’t we?” The crack in his voice almost made her cry and tell him the truth, but she shouldn’t. Because it’s for the best, it’s for him as well.

“Oscar, you are going to be a formula 1 driver, I am a college student, don’t you see the difference? You have your dreams close to your grasp. I, on the other hand would only drag you down. I still have many years ahead before I reach my dreams and yours is just around the corner. I would just be a distraction, Osc.” She tried to reason, but is there really a right logic when it comes to love?

There isn’t.

She knows there isn't. But trying is better than admitting the truth.

“But I could manage, I always do. You won’t be a distraction, you’ve always been a motivation to me.”

“But that won’t be for long. We both know what you want and what I want in life. We have different priorities and choices, Oscar. In the long run, you would hate me, and we would fight. What's the point in delaying the inevitable?" How she hated herself as soon as those words came out of her. Because it sounded so true, but to her? It was far from the truth.

"Cut the crap, yn. Stop saying that. Stop deciding for this relationship yourself. I would never hate you, and we would never drift apart because of our careers. Will you let this gap break us apart? Should I lose you just so I can fulfill my dreams?" He said to her, voice breaking with each word. Tears streaming, and desperation seeping through him.

Oh, how cruel faith is.

"And if I let it, what would you do, Osc? I am willing to lose you for my career. Willing to let us go for what the future holds."

"You are so cruel, do you know that? You promised me that you'd be there for my first race, my first win, and through it all. Are you just throwing that out the window now? Are those just empty words? Am I not worth risking for? Does our relationship mean nothing to you at all?"

At that moment, she almost broke down behind her facade. But she didn't, she shouldn't. It's for the better. It's for his future, even if it means hurting his present. It will all work out in the end, even if it's only for him. She wanted to let him know that he's worth fighting for, he's worth the pain—that he's worth losing it all for. He's worth more than anything she has or will ever have. And it's eating her alive, knowing she's the cause of him doubting if what they had was ever genuine. Because it was all genuine, it was pure and an undying love and connection. She loves him too much to lose him, so she made him hate her.

It's better this way. It is for the better.

And she did what she's best at, walking away. Leaving him to suffer in all that pain and hurt. The gnawing doubt was waiting to eat him, because at that time, it was for the better.

He never knew this, but she came to his first race, first win, she came in secret after every crash, every podium, and every pole position he got. She never missed out on every important thing that happened in his life, yet he never knew that. Because to him, it's just empty promises now. And it's still for the better. She thought.

But how long will better last when he actually saw her, in every race she went to, in the visits made in secret after every crash, and in the crowd after he won. He knew all along, yet before he could even reach her, she disappeared. Like a ghost that lingers, as if she's just an illusion in his mind. Haunting him in every promise she made.

taglist: @18racecar81 @wertyuizxcvbnm @yourfreeenchtouch @ninass-world

#oscar piastri x reader #oscar piastri #oscar piastri x female oc #f1 #f1 angst #f1 fanfic #f1 x y/n #f1 x reader #oscar piastri angst

124 notes · View notes

ma1dita · 5 months ago

Text

not your goddess

a 'partners in crime' installment - luke castellan x dionysus!reader prev -> to see the chaos through | next -> don't blame the kids words: 8k holy shit this is the longest fic for this series so far summary: (established relationship (uhhhh, well…)) The one where you both know the best of days eventually have to come to an end. Change in perspective is always good, but it makes you and Luke see your futures quite differently—you wonder if you’ll be together in it at all. (Luke Castellan x fem!Dionysus!reader) a/n: mmmyeah this is a songfic - goddess by laufey. references to waiting for godot by samuel beckett if you squint

—

[ it always goes like this, could've predicted it || i'm so naïve to think you loved me for me, kissed as I ran off stage || you're too old to play this game, guess you're still growing up at thirty nineteen]

Once you open yourself up to someone and bare your soul to them in honesty, they get a choice whether they want to be with you or not. It’s as simple and as convoluted as that. Normal humans are complex as it is—but to be a demigod must mean to endure all of that and then some. Luke has been especially hard to reach lately, and trying to understand him feels like grappling wisps of smoke. You let him build his whole life around you without either of you realizing and suddenly the walls feel like they’re closing in. Though maybe he always knew that—Luke Castellan is always intentional, and always full of surprises.

“We should run away from here.”

His voice breaks through the crunching of dead leaves underfoot on your trek to the stables. It’s hard to tell if he’s joking, even harder to decipher when your eyes meet in the dim light hanging above the Dutch doors that you walk through.

The two of you move as if partners in an orchestrated dance, the steps routine and not needing instruction; you fill up the water troughs and he steps around you to grab the bag of feed while his other hand grazes your waist, beckoning you to the next task. Most days are like this now, plotted out perfectly from sunrise to sunset.

To be content means that most of it is predictable, and some might call it boring, but it comes with the inner satisfaction that what the both of you share is only yours.

It’s peaceful.

Neither of you has ever really had that—and in your own way, both of you want to hold onto it for as long as you have it. Like how comets are always predictable; the knowing doesn’t make them any less beautiful.

“Let’s go now then,” you chuckle lightly, not looking at him as you shut off the hose. Bowie, your pegasus, brays in thanks as he dunks his muzzle into the trough, splashing water at your ankles. The water is frigid, a chill crawling up your spine and when you look up, Luke’s already staring at you solemnly, almost blending in with the shadows that drape over the barn. He stands there leaning against the wooden fence with his sharp, stone-faced features carved out by moonlight.

“Baby?”

Eyebrows furrowing, you take a step towards him and he’s eerily still, holding a hand out for you. His fingers don’t shake once you intertwine them with your own and he’s so sure of himself that his resolve is like a suit of armor. What a funny thought—him needing protection from you of all people, the girl he lays bare with most nights and who knows him at his most vulnerable.

“What do you think? Do I look like I’m joking?”

Luke’s words creak like metal hinges—coming off abrasive at the sight of your resistant expression. Truthfully, he hates it when you look at him like this—like there’s something wrong about him that you’re convinced you can fix. You don’t do it on purpose, but he’d like to think that you don’t think of him as one of your little DIY projects. This is different, calculated—his plans for the both of you will map out the rest of your future.

“Are…are you planning to leave?”

Though you hate to make the comparison, he’s a lot like his father: a one-track mind with only him knowing what’s coming next. Luke just expects everyone else to keep up, and you’re left feeling like someone’s pulled the rug out from under you as he holds onto your wrists firmly in the dim light. He’s nervous, even if he doesn’t show it. You can still tell by the way his voice cracks, a melancholy sound like he’s pleading for you to understand a hidden meaning you must’ve missed in the past few months of bliss.

“We are,” he corrects, before his voice begins to falter, “I mean we can. We…we should,” he says tentatively, and your arms jerk forward with the motion as you stumble into his grasp, “Think of it, babe. We could get out of here and do something great. Make a life for ourselves.”

You squint.

He’s not even asking, and that makes it worse, you think—it’s like he’s already got one foot out the door. You’re not sure if he even considered you possibly saying no.

Are you?

Entertaining frivolous conversations that your boyfriend has with you before bed is one thing—but acting on them? The truth is that you’ve never afforded yourself a future outside of the reality that you have now. You never thought you’d have this after everything—running across the country to find your father and make this family in nowhere New York. It wasn’t a possibility that your 14-year-old self would’ve ever dreamed of.

But then it happened, and you count your lucky stars that it led you to Luke. This is your home; you built it from the ground up with him the day you both stepped into your roles and washed your hands of stupid pranks. And maybe what you’ve always dreamt of is something you already have now.

Is that a crime? To like your reality better because it’s tangible—not everyone needs to be the main character in a sweeping saga. You do have a life, and you’d like to say it’s pretty alright, all things considered.

“Luke,” you swallow, face scrunching up in the way it does when he knows you’re about to say no, “I mean what about our responsibilities? What about…”

It was cute back when you were fourteen, but he now finds that he hates the way your nose scrunches up when you disagree with something, and it always makes him feel stupid for even asking in the first place. Luke steps away, dropping your hands as he sighs gruffly, “That’s a shit excuse, you know that, babe.” Dust kicks up from under his feet and you think he looks like a child about to throw a tantrum. The pegasi whinny softly behind you, and if they could talk it would probably be something like, Oh shit. Like a flip of a switch, he’s erratic, something pent up inside of him is now uncontrolled.

“I mean what do you want me to say, Luke? You want us to leave? Just disappear and leave Annie and Grover… and my brothers? What then? We don’t have money or degrees, or anywhere to go to—”

“We could make do—I mean we’ve both done it before Trouble, and now we can be together without all this. We don’t need camp. Or the gods’ blessings, I mean what did they ever do for us?”

He’s tired, you think—because the Luke standing in front of you right now isn’t anything like the one you know. Your Luke loves your campers as much as you do; he’s the type that gives piggyback rides and teaches the little ones how to swim in Canoe Lake. He prays at every mealtime—twice as long because you don’t see the point in it, and likes to fall asleep against your chest in the twinkly lights of cabin 12.

The Luke you know would never want to run away from the home you’ve both created for yourselves. Not without a proper plan. Luke always says that he loves making plans just as much as he loves you, which must mean a lot.

You already have what you want, for now. That’s the contingency of it—for now. You just don’t see it getting better than this; finding camp meant finding yourself, and that’s what your mother always wanted for you. Having a real shot of being a family, even if your dad drives you nuts, and the twins like to fill the bathtub with root beer, and Annie constantly demanding she prove that she knows the first 500 digits of pi comes with the path you chose.

Family—it’s what you were promised.

“We’re not ready, Luke. I mean… the real world out there is a lot worse than getting a C in archery or avoiding bathroom duty. We’ve still got some growing up to do—what’s the rush?”

He’s testy now—jaw swinging the crick in his neck and he does this when he’s about to say something mean, like the words have to fight their way out of his mouth, “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

Luke watches you look cluelessly at him like nothing he’s saying is making sense and it’s so frustrating that it makes his head hurt. What happened to you—his free-spirited girl who would follow wherever he leads? You don’t know how crucial this all is—Luke needs to know…

He needs to know if you’ll still follow him wherever he goes, even if it’s away from everything you have here.

But maybe you both imagined growing old together quite differently then.

“You’re making it sound like I’m in over my head about this when I know you don’t like it here. Listen to what I’m trying to tell you,” he bristles, hand leaning over the wooden beam above your head, “This place is getting old. We’re getting old. I want everything with you. Can’t you see that?” It feels like he’s caging you in, and he makes it sound so simple that it makes you laugh.

“Of course I do. All I’m saying is we should think this through more. I mean…We’re demigods. I’m not saying we can’t handle it and I’m not saying no, but—”, you barely finish the sentence before Luke interrupts you again.

The difficulty with Luke is that when he wants something, he wants it with his entire being. And he never goes down without a fight—even when its with you.

“But you’re not saying yes. Then what are you saying? That you wouldn’t be happy with me?”

Rolling your eyes, you swing yourself out from under his arm and start taking off your apron because clearly, work is not on the agenda tonight. You fling it onto the hook before spinning around to look at him.

“Stop putting words in my mouth. I am happy with you. Here. Where it’s safe. Where we have beds to sleep in and food to eat and the only real reason I have to look over my shoulder is to see if my dad’s bribing your siblings to sneak him alcohol,” you say half-jokingly, and it so badly misses the mark as you see his brows furrow deeper into his forehead.

“Give me a break,” he seethes, your name rolling out of his lips like acid and he has more to say but doesn’t know if he should. But he’s already started something and you’re just waiting for him to finish it. He has a habit of doing this, rolling the words around in his mouth for dramatic effect.

This is gonna hurt.

“Oh just spit it out, Luke. Don’t whine like a baby.”

“Your dad? He’s a fucking joke. Can’t stand him half the time and I don’t know how you do,” he starts, pacing around you like a boxer in a ring. You stand still as a statue, eyes lit and tracking him in the dark as he continues, “You know I’m right. He’s just keeping you busy because now that he has you, he wants to control you. And you don’t even get a pat on the back.”

“You do not wanna go there, I can promise you that.”

“Well, I am. Because I’m tired of watching you waste your potential. You used to be so…exciting,” His arms swing around him like feathered wings and Luke shakes his head, turning away from you to look at the moon, “I need you to care about our future too, okay? Cut the shit and be a real fucking person for once and not whatever this little puppet show you put on for your dad is because it drives me crazy sometimes. All the time. I’m losing it, Trouble. Can’t you tell?”

It feels like a blow to the chest and you take a deep breath to placate your feelings in case they’re tampering with his—and you find that the anger is all his own. Your words shoot out like a lit cannon in rebuttal, “This drives you crazy? I didn’t know it was so hard on you, Luke. Poor you, picking up after me when you literally offer to help,” you scoff, stomping over to get him to look at you since he’s so intent on having this conversation, “Do you think you get granted immortality for checking off campers on your attendance log?” He can’t have thought it would be that easy, can’t have imagined you wouldn’t get defensive when things don’t go your way. Because it’s been like that for a while now, and Luke’s been falling off pace with life here. He’s not the all-star golden boy he used to be. Deep down, you know that too; he only likes it here because you do. They say with anything the first year is the hardest—and although he wouldn’t change a thing with your relationship, this took work. Loving you was supposed to be his reward, and it’s as if he doesn’t know you anymore.

He’s not sure he knows himself that well anymore either.

“Of course not! That’s exactly what I’m saying—all of this won’t help us, so why are we exhausting ourselves instead of focusing on what’s important?” He runs his hands through his hair, tugging at the curls to anchor himself to this argument. And now you just want to strike back, to be damned with the consequences. Real love is a mirror, and although it's your first big fight…sometimes it hurts to be seen better than how you see yourself, and it hurts less to inflict it upon someone else instead of admitting that it hurts you.

“Oh so I’m exhausting to be with, is that it?”

He rips his apron off and tosses it at you, “Yes. Is that what you want me to say? You want a bad guy, you’ll get one. I don’t know what to—” His anger has always brewed like a storm—quiet and rumbling under the surface until he’s ready to strike. It comes down all at once and you’re covered in it with no way out but through. You bat the fabric to the ground angrily.

“You wanna repeat that?”

He laughs, a mocking, snarling sound, “You know what, it makes sense now—you’re just like your father. It all tracks!”

Your jaw tightens, pushing through by giving him another chance, testing him. Daring him.

“You wanna say that again?”

The wind picks up at his feet as he spins around you so fast it almost gives you whiplash, “Don’t give me that bullshit.” He’s tired and angry, but you’ve never seen this other side of him before—this ferocity that was unleashed at the idea of you wanting something he might not. Maybe you both are too similar then, too stubborn to give in until someone breaks.

“Don’t talk to me like that, Castellan. I’m warning you. Just because your dad hates you doesn’t mean that mine does.”

He laughs.

Luke laughs like you’ve just told him you’ve put Chiron in another dress and that pigs can fly but then he looks at you… He looks at you with his chestnut brown eyes and they’re just empty, boring deep into your soul.

“What happened to you?”

It’s a weird feeling, to know someone so well that you can see the other side of them they can’t see for themselves. You haven’t got a single clue.

“I grew up. You were there, Luke. You helped me do it. I wanted to be just like you—the role model, the one that people like, and what, now that I'm not just some crazy idea in your head you’re bored?”

Your voice cracks and so does a piece of Luke’s heart. You’re too tenderhearted, too good for him, and everything about you sends shockwaves through his being. This is what he told Kronos—even if you had it in you to force the gods to kneel and listen, would you be able to make the jump? Luke blinks, tuning back into your words.

“I mean you’re not even asking. It seems like you’ve made your decision for us. What does that mean to you? Us?”

“I’m sorry,” he mutters, clearing his throat. His apology feels heavier than it should, and you can’t figure out why. He won’t let you find out if he even means it.

“No, you’re not. You don’t even know what you’re sorry for, and now as soon as we’re happy, you get bored. You wanna talk about fathers, you’re just like yours too. Happy?”

The words come out almost explosive, a shot in the dark and you didn’t think you’d say it, but you did. Thoughtless, without care, until it sinks into him like a sharp blade. Luke’s face hardens and you’re not sure how long he’s been standing so far away.

“Are we?”

It’s almost lights out and you’re still here arguing with Luke, so today was not as predictable as you thought it would be. Unease grips you by the scrap of your neck like a merciless kitten, holding on for dear life. This isn’t a feeling you should associate with the love of your life.

“What did you say?”

“Like you said, we’re demigods,” he says whispering your name, “what do we do now that we’re happy? That usually means something worse is coming up ahead.” Luke scoffs, half in disbelief at his own realization, the other half in defeat, “We’re meant for more than just being happy—that…this isn’t enough. We’re meant for glory, not shoveling pegasi shit and taking care of children instead of planning for a future with our own. This shouldn’t be the end of us.”

Your lip quivers, tongue in cheek and you need to touch something, hold someone, to remind yourself that this is happening. But you don’t reach out to him because if you get too close he’ll see the tears in your eyes. Grabbing the dandy brush, you trudge over to Bowie and rake it through his hair, mumbling, “I’m happy. I’ve got you,” you swallow, turning to Luke, “I love you.”

He’s already in the doorway, swinging the bottom panel closed with his hip as he looks over his shoulder, frowning.

“Is that all you’ve got?”

Bowie brays next to you and it sounds like someone blowing a raspberry when they’re tired of a situation—maybe you are going crazy and they do understand—but one thing you do know is that you can’t understand Luke right now.

The truth is that love is a bunch of horseshit, really.

[ oh, were you surprised by me when you took me home? || When the glamour wore off, reduced to skin and bone || i can't even tell who you want to know || i'm a goddess on stage, human when we're alone]

Your knees hit the dirt again, falling forward onto your hands as you dry heave. In the blink of an eye, you feel Maimer resting against the apex of your neck.

“Yield.”

Clarisse La Rue has barely broken a sweat during this spar, and yet here you are at her feet feeling like today’s breakfast will make a reappearance on the arena floor. The younger girl rolls her eyes as she pulls you up by the leather strap of your chest plate, sighing at the unnatural pallor of your skin as she flops onto a bench with your dead weight following suit as your knees buckle.

“You know, I knew you said you were bad at this, but are you even trying?” she scoffs, throwing a water bottle at you that you fumble in your hands. Winning never feels as good when the other person isn’t putting up a fight. You gulp down the icy refreshment, shutting your eyes for a moment to escape the blinding sun as you mutter, “Never been a fighter unless necessary, Risse. That’s all you.”

“Alright, enough of this.”

Your eyes wrench open as you lean back on your forearms to look at the daughter of Ares. At thirteen, she’s a force of nature on her own and unlike anyone else at camp, Clarisse would never mince her words for the sake of others’ feelings. You needed someone to tell it to you straight.

“You know everyone can tell when you and Luke fight, right? I mean it rarely happens but when it does it always feels like the world is out of balance until you both fix it.”

You groan, throwing your arm over your face and unintentionally hiding from her. That couldn’t be true—the world does not revolve around whether or not a daughter of Dionysus and a son of Hermes had their shit together.

But Camp Half-Blood does.

“You’re lying, La Rue. It’s really not that deep.”

And then she looks at you like you’re stupid, which might be her customary expression for anyone else but to you—well, she at least respects you. For now, unless you keep whining like a badly written love interest.

“Gods, woman. You were so much cooler back then, what the hell happened to you?”

“Clarisse, it isn’t that easy—-” you grumble, putting your face in your hands as you stare at the dirt. Of course, you know that everyone knows, secrets run through Camp Half-Blood like running water. It slips through your fingers easily, soaking through the ground until everyone’s stuck in the mud. Your boots sink slightly into the softening earth and Clarisse realizes you’re crying before you do.

Why the fuck are you crying?

It was a stupid argument and it probably doesn’t mean anything but for once, you don’t know what to do. It feels stupid that your body decided to cry before your brain could come to the conclusion. This all feels so stupid.

“Hey, I didn’t mean to make you cry, weirdo,” she mumbles, unsure of what to do with a crying head counselor. Her calloused hands rub small circles into your back, and she can’t help but think you need more girlfriends your age. Scooting closer to you, she says, “What I meant was that you were way cooler when you didn’t give a shit about what people think about you, much less Luke Castellan. You’re starting to sound like you’re from 10, and I swear Sil is the only tolerable person from that cabin. Stop crying, please…”

You sniff, “Ugh… This is so dumb. Just lost myself for a second.” The statement rings true, and it bothers you more than you thought it would. There is so much more to you than playing the part of the agreeable girlfriend, the caretaker, the perfect daughter, that if you stared at yourself in the mirror you might not recognize who’s staring back. So many parts to play, and so little of you left.

“I guess, what I’m trying to say is,” Clarisse sighs, “and I’m no good at this feelings shit, but I think you need to remember that you’re allowed to be someone without him…without all of this. And you owe it to yourself to find out who that is.” You look up at her with watery eyes, tucking hair behind your ear as if it’ll help you absorb her words better.

You can’t believe you’re getting sound advice from a thirteen-year-old, much less a child of Ares on matters of love.

“It’s nice to be needed,” you mumble, “my greatest honor, I think. But it might also be my downfall.”

Clarisse smiles crookedly like she’s watching you through a fresh set of eyes. There’ll be no words of this conversation once you leave the arena—the both of you have a friendship unlike most girls here at camp. Never touchy-feely, typical girl talk, but always what you need to hear.

“How terrifyingly human of you. Yuck.”

“I can’t go on like this,” you groan, slumping further into your folded-over position and she sighs, going to take a sip from her water bottle before squeezing your shoulder.

“That’s what you think.”

[ you took a star to bed, woke up with me instеad || you must have felt so damn decеived when you made up a version of me that you thought you loved || but I am not your Aphrodite ]

When you were fifteen years old and he was just a month shy of it, you had somehow convinced Luke Castellan to run away from camp with you.

This was back then. Just for a day—just for the tiniest taste of freedom.

Luke had been at camp for almost a year, and Rye Playland sounded so much cooler than food service with the nymphs—which is one of the few things he would agree with you on. The both of you had kitchen duty for two weeks after getting caught attacking each other during Capture the Flag despite being on the same team, and it ended up with you ripping the fabric off the stick and chucking it into the middle of Canoe Lake. He’s lucky you didn’t lunge for his head, but the game was forfeit, and cabin 6 didn’t talk to you two for weeks because you threw the game. Including Annie, which was a surprising feat in itself.

After that day, you swore to never do anything Luke made himself in charge of and Chiron swore you two would never be on the same team again. You could remember D’s voice that day and how it boomed through the Big House, reminiscent of his father—a crackle of fury and impalpable seriousness that had Luke shaking slack-jawed in the chairs facing the mahogany desk. He’d never been told off by a parent before, much less an Olympian.

Taking it in stride even as the god threatened to turn you both into dolphins, you mimed the conversation when your father’s back turned, copying the odd quirk in D’s brow and conjuring a mouthful of grapes for teeth. You grinned at the son of Hermes like an idiot, a singular ripe sphere shooting out to make an audible thwack against D’s red Hawaiian shirt that made Luke laugh the loudest, ugliest guffaw you’ve ever heard him let out. He choked on his spit when the god jerked his head back to face the both of you like a comic-book villain.

Honestly, he might’ve peed himself a little. Just a tiny bit.

And the god of insanity himself was at his wits’ end—which is rare for him, very few things can get him to that point. Even less so with people. Pathetic, puny, little people he can drive to madness and violent death.

But not his baby girl—you know every last nerve to step on, a lot like your mother sure, but still all him in every way it mattered. He loved it, even when he was mad at you like this. He just wasn’t good at showing it, and you knew that to some extent. Plus, you can’t take a man in a Hawaiian shirt seriously, much less a god.

So you and your self-proclaimed archnemesis (frenemy, Luke insists) find yourselves running down Farm Road before first light, leaving nothing but a trail of dust behind you as you rush to catch the LIRR at a stop two towns over.

It was a small amusement park filled with different money-grabbing oddities, tooth-rotting confections, and rickety, squeaking rides that the conductors could fold into suitcases at the end of the day.

Sketchy, but so much fun. You made Luke go on all the kiddie rides with you and screamed your head off like a lunatic; he apologized to the parents of a toddler and said you had too much sugar—but that was a lie, this was all you in your natural state. Berry chapstick, wind-tousled hair, and a smile brighter than a spotlight. And your laughter, oh, your laughter shook the walls of the funhouse even after you crashed into the fifth mirror being too busy poking fun at the wonder in Luke’s eyes because it was the first time he’s genuinely done something for fun and not out of necessity. It was nice, and so were you, for once.

It was the first time you’d let your guard down for him, he thinks back—watching you toss a ball so badly off target from milk bottles set across the booth. You twisted in his grasp (he doesn’t remember getting so close, Luke still swears he was trying to help you aim) pouting at him with those pretty plum eyes and he sighed so deeply you smelled the cotton candy on his breath. For a moment you wondered if he tasted like it too—and then the worker asked if you’ll be trying again and you went, “Hmm? Maybe he’d be better at it!”

Luke rigged the shot with the snap of his finger, all the milk bottles falling to the ground with a crash and he swore on his life he’d sell out every single one of these stupid games if it gets you to bite your lip at him like that again.

There isn’t a single hint of regret that passed that entire day—you were already in trouble, so you both figured that you might as well enjoy it. By late afternoon, your legs felt like jelly and it felt less like you dragging him around the fairgrounds and more like holding onto him for support (because there’d be no other reason you’d want to hold his hand, your stomach just felt funny…that’s all!) Luke was wolfing down a funnel cake, the powdered sugar dust getting all over his shirt and he looked up to see you staring at him with a shit-eating grin.

Hand pointed in the air, Luke simply shakes his head.

“Fuck no.”

But you always had a way of convincing him to do things (Luke is a sucker susceptible to double dog dares) and the both of you are surprised he let you because sooner rather than later, you’re sat knee to knee in a tiny, screeching Ferris wheel cart that inched 100 feet into the sky. The white paint was peeling at his fingertips and the air was warm—Luke tried to focus on that instead of the fact that he was in a metal death chamber in the sky.

“Never imagined a son of Hermes would be scared of heights,” you grinned, nudging him with your foot. You’ve folded into yourself, hugging your knees as you looked at him and he thought that he might be having a heart attack at the ripe age of fourteen and three-quarters. But the pink and purple rays of the waning sun framed you so nicely that he wished he brought a camera—he had the silly photobooth strips from earlier tucked into his pocket, but you looking like that; Luke had etched it into his memory for safekeeping. Not only was he able to breathe a bit easier, but if there was a memory he could materialize from today—it’d be you grinning maniacally through the bars of the cart, pointing at the city in the distance.

“We’ve finally found something you’re not good at, golden boy,” you grinned, tilting your head to the side and inspecting him like he was a sad hamster in a glass ball.

“M’not scared of heights, I'm just scared of falling,” he reasoned, looking at the rusted floor. You were making your boots dance along to the beat of the fair music, tapping along to the cyclical rhythm. He was more scared of the lack of control he had at this moment—any of the other crazy rides, Luke had stood at the tiny gate next to the conductor holding the plush avocado he won for you, watching and hearing you scream for joy as the machines flung you into the air. The ones he did go on were relatively tamer, and by the third kiddie coaster, he realized that you probably whooped for joy just to make him feel better.

You kissed him on the cheek that day, so close to his mouth (but not close enough) when the Ferris wheel ultimately screeched to a stop. A necessary distraction, you said—but you weren’t sure for who. He tasted sugar-sweet and smelled like the late summer sun. You had never kissed a boy before, unsure if you’d even know how, or if Luke would even want to if you did.

The thought passed when you realized his fingers were clenched and white-tipped onto the guardrails and you…you’re terrible, so you started rocking back and forth, giggling until he yelled at you to stop, pulling you into his lap.

The conductor thought you two were doing something way less innocent, and you both got kicked out of Rye Playland afterward—but you got your money’s worth.

Well, you both snuck in and Luke definitely pickpocketed someone’s mom.

All in all, it was a great day.

You fell asleep on his shoulder on the way back home, the Long Island Railroad car chilly with the AC. Watching you drool, he thought he might even like traveling again if it’s for fun like this, might even hate his dad less too. Luke threw his whole dinner into the hearth that night with a bright smile on his face even after Mr. D yelled at the both of you in front of everyone at the dining pavilion. After all, the only factor in his life that’s changed in the past year, an addition, if you must— was you.

[ you took me for a fool, you stole my youth, you wanted this so much || you watched me rise then killed my light || and now you know I'm not your fucking goddess || oh, i'm no goddess when i'm alone ]

Work is work.

That’s what you’ve both been telling yourselves throughout an already rough week gone even worse, but trying to avoid your significant other is an especially difficult task when you work together.

It’s the simple truth—you can’t ignore someone you have to talk to primarily because of these two factors: 1. Capture the Flag teams need to be sorted by Thursday mornings to be ready to play on Friday afternoons, and 2. it is weird for campers to see you two not interacting with each other.

Well, it’s Friday now, and you and Luke haven’t talked since that argument in the barn.

Kind of, but the times you have didn’t count—the past few days have been both of you talking around other people; not directly to each other. Last night at dinner, Chris stared at you like one does when their parents are thinking of getting a divorce, eyes flickering between you two and his cheeseburger. Luke was sitting next to you on the bench blankly picking the tomatoes off his sandwich and you were staring glumly at your slice of pizza.

“Is there something going on between you two?”

He was one of the few brave enough to be blunt about it. You and Luke were all-consuming, like a black hole. It’s hard for others not to notice the gravitational pull, but when it’s bad…. everyone and everything gets sucked in, whether they like it or not.

“Lee was excited to hear that your cabin is teaming up with them tomorrow. It’ll be quite interesting, all of you with 7 and 9,” you said, wiping grease off the slice with a napkin. Luke’s head jerked in your direction at your words, “Dude what—Chris! I thought I signed off on working with 6? We don’t work with Apollo for a reason,” he hissed, leaning over the table towards his brother. Chris scratched the back of his neck, knowing Luke was right. Cabin 7 isn’t that good in all matters that involve stealth—the last time they worked with them, Austin was scatting under his breath and it got them ambushed by the red team. Opening his mouth to speak, you quickly interjected, “Well it’s about time to change it up—keeps things exciting, don’t you think, Chris?”

Luke sighed, redirecting his brother’s focus to him, “What do you think, man? I just think when it comes to battle strategies we should stick to what works.” Chris swallowed, raising his hand in the air; he was grappling at the edge of a cliff just trying to hold on to either of you—he looked around to see if there was a way out of this. Next to him, Ethan averted his eyes and played with his carrot sticks.

“Funny how that works for battle strategies and not other things,” you hummed around a mouthful of pizza, “Don’t you think, Chris? I just think that you never want to be predictable in these things. It makes everything boring. Or so I’ve heard,” you munched thoughtfully, daring the son of Hermes to break eye contact with you as Luke scoffed, tossing his napkin onto his plate before standing up. He walked off without a second glance, throwing everything into the hearth—plastic tray included, and stormed off toward the cabins. The rest of the table minded their business, shoveling food into their mouths. Chris choked on a french fry.

And you smirked, satisfied at the small win.

But now, almost a day later tramping through the sodden dirt of the North Woods in heavy body armor, you remind yourself that it is so very hard to prove a point to Luke Castellan. He finds you halfway through the game as you hold onto the red flag post, standing tall at the vantage point and looking like a stone grotesque protecting the area you’re surveying. By the time you notice, a blur of cobalt whizzes towards you—knocking out the three Ares kids standing guard around the perimeter. You gasp, raising a hand sending vines hurtling toward the air until you see him hanging upside down by the ankles, wrapped in green leaves and purple bunches of grapes. Luke’s headwear falls to the earth with a clang.

“I’m not here for the flag!”

You rush over, dropping the pole and sighing, “Luke…you scared me! I thought you were with Beck today.” The blood rushes to his head as he looks at you all out of focus. Seeing you the other way around gives him a new perspective on things—the epiphany almost makes him ache, but that might also be the pressure pooling in his forehead. You brush your thumb against his cheek before letting him down slowly, and all he does is look at you.

“We need to talk.”

“Like, actually this time?” you mumble, hugging yourself as you watch the vines unravel from his limbs and sink back into the ground. You’ve always been a good actress and Luke was the best liar around—this shared penchant for fabricating the truth used to make you one and the same.

It is more obvious now that actors and liars are wholly different; actors live in an imaginary world given to them, while liars strive to create it for themselves. There’s that saying—don’t hate the player, hate the game.

Luke finds that he’s starting to hate all of it.

“Yeah,” he mutters, “we can’t keep ignoring this, Trouble.” It takes a special kind of sadness to feel lonely even when you’re with someone. You bite the inside of your cheek, feeling your spirit sink into the ground below you, almost resigning yourself to what will happen next. All the petty backtalk, the times you’ve crawled into bed with him already pretending to be asleep— it all comes down to this. There’s this French word that Annie had taught you a few days ago when you spent extra time snuggled up in her bunk, partially to catch up with your favorite girl and partially… to waste more time before going home to him.

Énouement—-The bittersweetness of having arrived in the future and seeing how things turn out, but not being able to tell your past self.

“Luke…” you start, watching him sheath Backbiter with a casual flick of his hand, “Would you go back if you could? Before…” Barely able to string your words together, he notices your lip quivering, “Did you like me more back then?”

“Baby…” he sighs, going to wrap his arms around you and you hold onto him in return at arm's length.

“I’m really trying…” you choke out, pressing your lips to hold in the onslaught of things you want to say. To understand? To apologize? The words die out on your tongue.

“I know. You’re always trying, Trouble. That might just be the saddest part.”

Wind whirls through your hair, pushing you against him for shelter as you gather your thoughts. In the silence of the woods, you wonder how many moments you’ve spent drawn to him like this for comfort. Luke’s always there for you, whether you like it or not. For better or worse—you wonder if there won’t be a lot of chances to hold and be held, and you can’t seem to let go.

“I didn’t change, okay? I’m still me. People don’t change, just like the gods don’t. I just don’t see us away from this,” you swallow, tracing a finger over his bicep to distract your burning eyes, “we can’t escape who we are Luke. Me and you. Isn’t that enough for now?”

He lets out a sigh and you know his answer; his shoulders sink low enough that your hold on him loosens ever so slightly. At this rate, you think it’d be easier if he’d just pull the trigger—maybe it would hurt less than this.

“I’ll change the gods’ minds and make them agree. They’ll know us, babe. The glory—”

Everything around you blurs as you hone in on your anger. This whole forest could go up in flames and you wouldn’t give a damn,”Oh FUCK glory! Just love me and that’s enough! Why can’t that be enough? Why can’t you stop running from me for once, Luke!” Your plea comes out like a wail and you push him away, feeling disgusted by what’s come of this conversation. You were never a beggar—the only thing left to do was kneel in the dirt and beg him not to break up with you. Before you can think of the irrational thought any further he shakes his head, almost growling, “How do you still not get it? It’s because I love you is why I can’t.”

“Listen, I love you too, babe. I just…don’t know if I like you right now.”

That’s not fair. He’s sacrificing the entire trajectory of his life and you can’t figure out if you like him? You don’t know the lengths he would go to, can’t fathom the obstacles he would conquer just to make sure that you and him have it all. And you’re not even trying to see it his way—to even imagine that he could make it possible.

Things couldn’t stay the same forever, that you could both agree on.

“You’re all talk, you know that, Trouble? You’re just mad that I want this life more than you. And you know I’d actually do what I need to do to get it. Would you?” he nudges you roughly, “Talk to me! This is your time to get it all out of your system. Say that I wouldn’t do anything for you. You know I would.” Fat tears are rolling down your cheeks; he hates watching you cry. It’s the whole reason he signed away his soul—he wants the world you live in to be a place where gods bow down to you and dry your tears, not cause them. Luke would topple Olympus in an instant if it meant you wouldn’t look at him like he’s a lost cause.

“That’s not fair, you haven’t even answered a single question I’ve asked you. It’s like you’re not even listening to me, Lu—”

“Not fair?”

Groaning, you turn away from him. The flag post you dropped earlier is long gone now—the game is still on and the world keeps spinning whether you like it or not. But you’re disinterested in all that now.

“Do you even hear yourself? To you, I’m still the girl on the Ferris wheel,” you sniff, wiping your nose with your sleeve. His hands squeeze your shoulders, begging, pleading for you to understand, “Is that a bad thing? You tell me you haven’t changed—I’m protecting her because you won’t. I’m getting her the hell out of here because I know she deserves more than this. Look around you,” he whispers your name against your neck, “We could forget all of this.”

But that’s just not who you are. Your shoulders tremble as you hold them up under the pressure. Sure you could see what he’s saying—there isn’t a single future you can imagine without Luke in it. The house, the kids…but more than that you just want to belong somewhere. And Camp Half-Blood is where you belong. With him.

“I don’t want everything, Luke. I just want you. And if you don’t want this, I need you to tell me now. Because I’m tired,” you warble, digging your nails into your palms, “ and I’m sick of this game. I feel like neither of us are winning.” You take a step back to look at him—sunlight filtering through his hair, eyes wistful and contemplative.

“Maybe we should take a break.”

And there it is. He’s already made his decision, whether he admits it or not. A horn blares overhead, followed by the sounds of cheering. You don’t know who won, and you don’t really give a shit if we’re being real right now.

“Does it even matter?”

There’s a frozen look on your face like you’ve been struck by lightning, half between a crooked smile and subtle surprise. It’s a knowing look, Luke thinks, what he can see of you through half-lidded lashes and grief. He thinks years from now, if he even makes it that far, it’ll all come back to this moment in the North Woods, and you, the girl he was in love with at nineteen.

“It’s not even worth it now I guess,” he whispers. It makes you laugh—even your laughter sounds sad now.

It seems that even breaking up with you is an inconvenience.

You sniff, wiping your face and looking around. Everyone’s gone already and Chiron will be looking for you two soon, “Then it’s not worth it. Because you say so… and we’ve got work to do.” Your watch beeps.

Dinner service starts soon, but before you both head over to the pavilion, you and Luke are expected to set up the bonfire. He nods, loosening the straps of his chestplate, just something to do with his hands, “I know.”

“I don’t want to go. I’m not ready to leave this all behind yet. I’m still needed here.” Until your coming of age ceremony. Until your heart calls you elsewhere and your family can stand on their feet.

Until then.

Somewhere, you hear Annabeth calling out to you, the melody of both of your names traveling through the trees. You and Luke turn your heads in that direction, before looking at each other once more. He licks his lips, “I know that. We should get back to it, then.” There’s no use doing this all alone, he thinks. And there’s a part of you that thinks there is no use for you when you’re alone.

“We should.”

Neither of you move.

The winter solstice is tomorrow and there is much work left for the both of you to do.

—

I don’t understand how he grows colder from the same love that warms me. I didn’t know we loved differently—him partly, less and less, and I entirely. - JNH / @shatteredjuvenileday

#luke castellan x reader #trouble!verse #percy jackon and the olympians #made by ma1dita ♥︎#luke castellan imagine #luke castellan x dionysus!reader

197 notes · View notes